...and the new year cometh.
The third house along the second street was the only unlit house in the area. Everywhere else, sparks fly and fireworks glow in welcoming the new year. In that only dark house, nothing is really new with the coming year.
His arms and legs were dripping with blood. His skin was scratched all over. All around, broken glass pieces were scattered.
He continues screaming incomprehensive words. Each time, he grabs a medicine bottle or glass frame and throws it to a random area in the room. Each time, the room echoes with the loud crash. And screams.
On the other side of the room his mother sits with her back on the door as she wept silently in the darkness. She used to always cry while praying. She had always prayed for him to get better, for the fits to lessen at the least. But just as he continues to lose it, she also began to lose faith. So she stopped praying at all and just cried instead.
She was looking forward to this New Year. In fact, she was planning on doing a new year's resolution. If he only gets better, she said to herself, she will take him to the park every morning. She will eat with him every meal. She will read him bedtime stories ever night. She had promised to be a better mother for him.
But he's got other resolutions. In fact he has many--one for each voice he hears in his head. So he screams each one into the air, unaware that his voice comes out as unintelligible screams. And in celebration he picks up a bottle and throws it like a firecracker.
In his own unique way, he welcomes the New Year.
