Beginning of the End?

This story, I wrote using problem house as a prompt. I'm not sure my interpretation of it is usual. I wrote it during my darkest days. That's probably why it pushed towards mental health. I hope it finds you well.

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CHILD

It was almost time. The boy sat on a small stool in front of the brick house, waiting. His eyes were bloodshot, sole proof of his torment. The last few days had been long and strange. He had neither eaten nor spoken, but had waited for the faintest light of dawn. Then he would carry the same stool and sit at the same spot. Day after day, this was his ritual.

He was a beautiful child, but the pain he felt cast a bleak shadow over his features. His large brown eyes were now sunken and gone was the smoothness of his skin. His head was a tad bigger than what for normal for his his twelve year old frame.

He wasn't always like this. The spell usually lasted for a couple of days and then he would return to his normal self. But these days, that journey back was becoming more and more difficult. There were days when he had to fight with himself, to not show that he was hurting, because the people he cared about the most, had refused to accept it. And now he was beginning to lose his mind. He could here the voices telling him to wipe his tears and stop behaving like a girl.

“You're a boy and boys don't cry. They don't show it when they're hurt," they said.

He hated her.

He despised the way she touched, cuddled him, and said, "My child." He used to love it but not anymore. He couldn't bring himself to call her mother again, not after all her negligence. She had chosen fasting and praying over him, and he had learned to fight his battles alone.

The man was worse. He'd once called him father. Once upon a time, the man would have asked him what the problem was. Now, he seemed more concerned with money and fighting with the woman, than taking care of him.

The boy stood and quietly walked to the east wing of the house. He turned slowly, tilting his head upwards, and smiled at the soft glow of the setting sun. He would continue to wait in this emptiness, but he would never forgive them for it.

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MOTHER

“Hail Mary... full of grace... the Lord is with thee..." the woman murmured, her head bowed. She'd ceased to feel the pain on her bruised knees. Her rosary had become her companion since her child's ailment had taken a turn for the worse. She prayed fervently, day and night. Her life and the fate of her child depended on it. He was the only thing still keeping her in the marriage, a union with a man she had come to despise. An arranged marriage set up without her consent.

At first, she had believed she would learn to love him. Then she discovered his hatred for God and she'd lost all hope. She'd crossed path with non-believers before she married him, even became friends with few. But none of them had issues with her beliefs. She still shuddered whenever she remembered his reaction the first time he saw her reading the scriptures. She'd been pregnant with their child, and that day she'd realised what a huge mistake their marriage was.

Yet, her love for her child had held her back. She was a prisoner to that love, and cared very little for herself. She would give her child a complete family to grow up in, whether it was a good one or not. A virtuous woman. She wasn't going to give the society and her family reasons to frown at her. No, she would not fail at motherhood. So she prayed, for herself and for her child.

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FATHER

His child was deteriorating, and there was nothing he could do. He had not wished to marry early, but had come to accept and love his wife. It baffled him, how he could love someone and yet, loathe the source of their happiness, the reason for their inner peace. Maybe it wasn't love; maybe he was just looking for something to hold on to.

He wished he could love his wife and child right. He was tired of trying to explain things. Talking wasn't working any longer, so he would take action. He would start by taking his son to the hospital; consequences be damned. He was the boy's father and had to do right by him. His family wouldn't stop him this time. He was tired of their patience and unending prayers that never worked. He was tired of hope.

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His child sat on his lap. He didn't mind that the boy flinched at his touch. Someday, he would grow and understand that as a father, he did what he had to do for his child's survival.

“What's wrong with my son?" he asked again.

The doctor looked up. “Your son is schizophrenic and has reached the state psychosis. There's nothing much I can do for him. He needs to be in a mental health facility."

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The man stood, staring at the house he called home. Where would he start to explain to his wife that their child is schizophrenic? That their only child would have to live on drugs for the rest of his life? That he was likely to completely lose his mind someday?

He stood there and wondered.

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