Teaser Tuesday

Well, it's Tuesday yet again. And I haven't really been writing. I have been taking notes for one of my SNIs that I keep thinking about. So, I didn't think I had anything to post today but then I found this. It's from Have Mercy and it's from Mercy's POV. It's a little rough, well at least I think it is but I hope you guys enjoy it.

When I woke up this morning, not only was I met with the sound of the sky's tears tap dancing on the roof but I could smell something. It was a strong smell, like odor that came from the gym socks lying around in the boys' locker room, but less potent. I turned over, pressing my nose into my pillow but I could still smell it.

Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest, and here I was getting out of bed. I slipped on my slippers and pulled open my door. The fragrance assaulted my nose and then I knew what it was.

Something was burning.

My mother was cooking.

As I moved down the stairs, I stopped and looked out the window.

I hated rain. It came and it went, leaving behind sorrow and pain in it's wake. Even when the sun came out and it was a new day, it was still there somehow, engraved in the leaves, the ground, trickling down the window. It was always there, and no amount of sun could scare it away.

I touched the glass, and a chill resonated through my fingers. Something about this day seemed so familiar. I stood there, my toes curled in my slippers, remembering.

Remembering the cold wet droplets, the burnt toast, and two eyes, two cold, evil eyes.

There was only one person my mother cooked for.

I could feel my heart skip a beat.

I could feel a buried ache in my stomach rise from the dead.

The closer I got to the kitchen, the stronger the pain grew. My mother was standing over the stove, her dry black hair pulled up into a loose ponytail. It bobbed up and down, as she flipped something that looked like a black saucer onto a plate. As if sensing my presence, she turned to look at me, a smile pasted under her distant brown eyes.

"Good morning," she said. My mouth felt dry. All the memories. All the pain. It was all coming back to me. I grabbed a hold of the door frame to keep from falling over. There, sitting at the table staring at me with those familiar glassy blue eyes, was the man who I thought I would never have to see again.

My father was out of prison.