Title: Maturity Author:Monseur Brett Genre: Short Rating:G Pairings?: What ze devil is a pairing? Author's Notes: All right, this is orginally a short I wrote to my mum for mothers day couple years back, and looking back - it's framed and resting on a shelf, just saw it again - it ain't half bad. Plus it's actually halfway optimisitic, unlike my other doom and gloom drivel. Enjoy.
Where was he? He saw the same trees like the ones in the picture; he saw the same house, and even about half the same people. He looked at the photo of his childhood, and then back up. This was not home. This was not his family. Yes, there was his sister talking amiably with her uncle, 'our' uncle rather, and there was dad chatting with someone or 'noter whose name and family title I forget. Well, this is nearly the same furniture, and he is nearly sure all his toys from Christmases long pas are stowed away around the corner maybe, or in the attic... somewhere near. But where was he? Surely the snowball fights, the games of capture the flag, the pitchers of lemonade, failed business oppurtunities, the hours of reading into the sunset didn't happen here. How could they have? The air is too oppresive, the talk to greedy, the atmosphere too, too... mature for any of those little miracles to happen. Call it the ravages of age, but he just could not feel at home in his home, even on Christmas Eve with the family he grew up with and visited... At once, the oppressiveness, the greediness, and the maturity level ceased to exist. Dinner had been called, and we her faithful servants followed dutifully to the table. Except not quite. The pleasant change in atmosphere had already placed an amiable half-smile on his face; a smile that turnedinto a f ull-fledged grin when he heard the long-forgotten words, "Son it's been so long! I love you, you know that right?" He turned and saw his mom, arms outstretched and heart radiating love. They embraced, parted, and each took a good look at the other. Then by mutual, unspoken understanding they sat down and ate dinner with the rest, enjoying each other's company and conversation. Maybe this is home after all.
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"I have always had delusions that what I see isn’t real. That my eyes deceive me. That I’m lying to myself. I’ve never had much proof, just a deep resonance in my heart and bones that there is a perpetual motion machine perpetually blowing smoke up everyone’s ass, perpetually causing a genuine and spiteful sense of will full ignorance.
No proof though. Just a hunch."
