╔══《"Lord what will become of me,》══╗
once I've lost my novelty?"

       The gentle brush of knuckles against his forehead slowly woke Corbin up. His mind was hazy; the graze of skin against skin was warm. The feeling sent tingles through his body, causing him to twitch in his half-asleep state. His locs fell around his face, revealing the patchy skin beneath.

       The hand was tracing the areas of white, as if the dark skin was contagious. "Hello dear," the voice spoke gently. The fog in Corbin's brain cleared instantly. No longer asleep, he bolted upright--the voice having sent shivers through his spine.

       His eyes opened wide, and he found himself staring at the one person he wanted to see least. Her short bob was sleek and shiny the fluorescent lights reflecting off of the surface. If Corbin squinted hard enough, he was positive he could see his reflection on the strands.

       Genetics are weird. He scoffed, reaching up to brush his dense locs away from his face. The area his mother had just touched was still tingling. The large patch of white stood out, and he quickly positioned his hair to cover it.

       "You're not going to say hello to your mother? Even after I drove all the way to pick you up?" she guilted, looking at her son with a sad expression. "You're a grown man, you shouldn't get sick. You're weak. Don't let this happen again," she sternly intoned, her voice changing from whining to yelling in a single second.

       "Thanks for coming to get me," Corbin whispered, "It won't happen again," he promised.

       "Good! Now let's go, the school day's over," she smiled, standing up from the stool next to the bed. Corbin sighed, shuffling out of the tight blankets wrapped around his body, pinning him to the mattress.

       His bones were stiff, the body parts having fallen asleep when he had. The pins and needles feeling spread through his whole body, the sensation unpleasant. Stepping his feet on solid ground, Corbin hoisted his body weight up, stumbling forward towards his mother as he lost balance.

       She took a large step back in retaliation, wincing in reaction. Her eyebrows were furrowed, as if she was telling him, I wouldn't catch you if you fell forward. 

       She recoiled from her son's touch, though Corbin didn't mind. The faint smell of cigarettes lingered on her blazer. The stench made Corbin scrunch his nose, flinching backward. Her attire indicated that she had come directly from work. 

       The heels on her feet were inky black, clearly freshly polished. The sheer tights on her slender legs were clean, showing no rips along the thin material. The pencil skirt was straight and modest--falling right above her knees. The baby blue dress shirt was ironed, not a single wrinkle residing on the linen. The navy blazer was crisp and sharp.

       The persona she eluded was one of power and formality. However, the closer one looked, the more imperfections they would find. 

       The bottoms of her shoes were scratched up, despite how clean she polished the tops. Underneath her skirt, a large rip in her tights followed her waist--having been clawed away. If one looked at her skirt closely, they would see that in between the brown plaid colors, a stain of deep red resided on the bottom, the underside even more infected. In the pocket of her button up, the outline of a lighter was visible. And of course, the effluvium of smoke was something she couldn't conceal.

       No amount of expensive floral perfume could cover the years of built up filth. It seeped from every pore in her skin, unescapable.

       Her neat hair, tucked behind her ears, was short because chunks had begun to fall out. When the hair clogging the drain was pin straight, it wasn't hard for Corbin to determine the origin.

       Corbin knew all these imperfections, which was why the fake appearance his mother presented disgusted him. What a hypocrite. He huffed, shoving past her and toward the door. Trailing behind him, she rushed out the door too.

       On the way out, she waved by the nurse, smiling and saying a farewell. Her voice was light and kind. Having caught up to her son, she placed a strong hand on the small of Corbin's back, gripping hard.

       Her cheerful tone contrasted her actions, which went unnoticed to the oblivious nurse who returned the wave.

       Pushing hard, Corbin's mother shoved him out the door, leading him through the empty hallway and toward the entrance.

       By now, all the students had filtered out of the corridors, either to their buses or to their cars. The day had ended, leaving only small huddles of people loitering with their friends remained. Ashamed to be seen with his mother, Corbin stared at his feet, hoping the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

       Yanking his arm, Corbin's mother pulled him forward. "Hurry up, son. We don't have all day for you to mingle," she cursed in aggression.

       Too scared to argue, Corbin picked up his pace matching that of his mothers. The front doors were shoved open, and the bright sunlight immediately blinded Corbin.

       He closed his eyes, halting in his place. "Come on, son!" his mother yelled, jerking his arm forward causing him to stumble. His dirty chucks twisted, his ankles aching. 

       Collapsing, he staggered on his feet. Searing pain immediately spread up his leg. His mother yanked on his arm again, caring little for the yelp of pain Corbin shrieked.

       "Hurry up!"

       "Sorry, mother," Corbin mumbled, looking down as he began walking at a brisk pace.

       "Look at me! You're old enough to know how to make eye contact with your elders! Learn to be polite," she demanded, staring at her son angrily. 

       Quickly, Corbin tore his gaze off the concrete sidewalk and to his mothers stern eyes. They were so brown they looked black. Despite the bright sun, no light reflected off the irises.

       The lifeless nature of her eyes is what makes Corbin avoid looking at them in general. He finds that the more he stares, the more his mind spirals, unable to stop the descent into emptiness.

       When he raised his head, the hood of his sweatshirt fell off, bunching up by his shoulders. His splotchy skin--exposed from the direct sun--shone on display for his mother. Her face morphed from anger to disgust, staring at the discoloration.

       "Don't look at me. I don't want to see your face," she scoffed, taking back her previous demand for eye contact. Embarrassed, Corbin quickly pulled the hood back up, returning his gaze to the uninteresting floor. His mother had dropped his arm, walking ahead.

       Scrambling to catch up, Corbin ran, trying to avoid getting in more trouble. His feet scuffed on the concrete, wearing down the soles of his shoes. When he finally reached the white Tesla, his mother had already started the car.

       "Nice of you to join me," she joked, her stiff tone contradicting her sarcastic words. "If you had arrived a second later, I would've driven off without you." Not responding, Corbin dropped his backpack by his feet, and sunk into the comfortable cushion. Not bothering to buckle his seatbelt, he rested his head against the window.

       "Don't put your feet on the seats, they're dirty," she reminded him, starting to reverse out of the parking spot. Corbin hummed an acknowledgement weakly.

       His stomach tensed, suddenly aware of how empty it was. The last meal he had was dinner the previous night. The thought of food made him shudder. If I eat anything now, I'm just going to throw it up again. His stomach growled, interrupting the eerie quiet of the car.

       It was so quiet, one could hear a pin drop, the only noise being the hum of the car engine. Corbin stared out the window, watching the buildings blur past him. The gray and beige town was what he was forced to call 'home'.

       A small cute coastal town, full of nature and life with a medium sized house and a large backyard with a green lawn. That's what Corbin pictures when he thinks of 'home'. Not the lowly suburban town he's been forced to reside in for his whole life.

       This hamlet he was forced to call 'home' felt lonely and empty. He was stuck wandering around like a misguided ghost, tethered to this place like his regrets were an anchor. The heaviest, most burdensome anchor of all.

       All of a sudden, he noticed they weren't driving in the direction of home. The familiar buildings confirmed his fears. "Why are you going to church right now," he asked in a whisper.

       "Oh just because! they wanted to see you! It's been a month since you've visited. You know how my sisters are," she smiled, not taking her eyes off the road. The upbeatness of her words felt so forced. The 'keep sweet' voice was something that all the ladies at his mothers church were taught.

       It was a way of manipulating your voice to sound sweet and 'motherly'. Whenever Corbin hears it, he wants to gag. When his mother switches to it, her voice jumps up an octave. Transforming her usual deep and menacing voice as if she was a different person.

       Corbin shuddered, not daring to look over at her. He knew what expression she would be making: a faux smile of fake happiness. At this church, she was indoctrinated to be happy at default--this being the result of the teachings.

       The small parking lot was crowded as they pulled into one of the only open spots. The church was small, containing a tight knit group of sisters. Corbin only attended when he was forced on occasional Sundays, so the building was unfamiliar to him.

       "Why are so many people here?" he asked, "It's a Wednesday afternoon."

       "To see you, son! You're a hot topic here," she complimented. 

     "Why would I be a hot topic? There's nothing special about me," he muttered.

       "Of course there is! You know why, son. Of course my sisters are going to want to see someone cursed by Satan, why wouldn't they! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity," she smiled. She's smiling a lot. Corbin noted in discomfort. Maybe she's putting on an act for her sisters.

       "Mother, I'm not--"

       "Hello Daisy! Come right on inside!" a bubbly voice called from the front of the church. The wide wooden door was opened a crack, and a head was poking out. She had ginger hair, curled like it was still the 1920's. Her round face was powdered with rouge, the shade too dark for her fair skin. The dress she wore was out of a fashion history book, and Corbin quirked his head to the side, questioning her odd taste.

       "Come on! Don't make me ask again," Corbin's mother hissed beneath her breath, intending for only Corbin to hear her remark. Taking the hint, he immediately swung the car door open and stepped out. His mother followed him, locking the smooth white car when she closed the driver's side door.

       She gave him one final look, her eyes fierce and intense. This was a warning. He knew what she was threatening: misbehave and you'll pay for it. Her eyes spoke where her words couldn't. The enthusiastic women still stood by the door, waiting for Corbin and his mother to enter. The smile she plastered on her face earlier hadn't faltered.

       The corners of her mouth stood just as high, her teeth still shone just as bright. Holding a smile that long has got to be painful. Corbin pondered to himself. She stood so stiffly, as if moving from her place at the door meant sudden death.

       Across the parking lot, up the concrete stairs, to the front door. 28 steps.

       "Hello Lorraine!" Corbin's mother welcomed happily once they reached the double doors.

       "Hello Daisy! How has your day been," Lorraine asked, opening the door wider, allowing Corbin and his mother to enter. Inside, the rows of pews seemed to stretch on for eternity. The alter stood in the center, watching over the rest of the church. The blinding whiteness of the room surprised Corbin.

       It was cold, and the interior design looked a lot like Corbin's house--plain and boring. It felt isolating, like what Corbin imagined a mental hospital would look like.

       Standing around the front, a small group of women laughed and chatted. Staring at them, Corbin suddenly felt out of place. They all were dressed in modest, formal attire.

       Some wore business outfits, obviously coming straight from work, while others wore flowy white dresses. Corbin looked down at his dirty sweatpants and oversized hoodie. The dark fabric made him stand out. They already think you're the devil, this is just gonna confirm it! Nobody told me the dress code was all white, 'Jesus style'. 

       He face-palmed, all the attention being drawn to the door. Suddenly, lots of faces were looking straight at him. They all had pale skin, and most had light colored hair. They're all white. He noted, wondering how his mom managed to get drawn into this.

       He was sure his mother shared no cultural similarities with any of the ladies in the church. She didn't fit in. Corbin stood out even more, his skin tone alone being many shades darker than even the tannest women in the room. Their light hair, light eyes, and light skin made his stomach swirl, the feeling uncomfortable and suffocating.

       He followed his mother through the isle, trailing a couple steps away. Her strides were confident while his were uncertain. As the staring eyes got closer and closer, his breaths got shallower and shallower. When they reached the altar, where the huddle of women were, he was holding his breath.

       Their gazes were mean, staring into him with resentment. How can they have so much hate for someone they don't know? Corbin shivered, refusing to look up from the marble floor.

       "So! I hear that your name is Corbin," a friendly lady spoke first, stepping ahead from the wall of people. She held her hand out, small and pale. 

       Shaking her hand, Corbin noted the differences. Hers were baby-smooth, not a single imperfection visible. Corbin's were ugly and deformed; his knuckles all raised and bumpy, scratches and scuffs on his fingers. His hand completely consumed the kind woman's smaller hand. The handshake was awkward and stiff.

       Her perfect smile wavered, ever so slightly. It was almost an unnoticeable change, but Corbin picked up on the subtlety. He furrowed his brows at her, frowning. Her eyes widened, and she almost looked scared. She left their hands clasped together for longer than appropriate, embarrassed when she noticed the church had gone silent.

       She quickly pulled her hand back, looking around flustered. She seemed to be young, around 30, Corbin thought. It was clear through her body language that she was uncomfortable, feelings of guilt clouding Corbin's mind. I should've pulled my hand away first, now the whole church thinks I'm even more psycho.

       Mustering up strength, Corbin attempted to smile. It was crooked, and wonky looking. It was obviously forced, seeing as the ladies from the church scrunched their faces up in discomfort in reaction.

       The only times Corbin had stepped into this church previously--the number of times able to be counted on his two hands--had been for church service. At these, he was able to sit in silence away from the other members, and leave after the service ended.

       Now, he was trapped in the church. The large walls and open ceiling felt claustrophobic, his body feeling stuck. If he stared too long in one spot, the walls began moving in on him. Darting his eyes around, he tried to avoid the group of people.

       "So, as most of you've met before, this is my son," Daisy spoke, smiling at Corbin. When he stared at her back with a bleak expression, she nudged his arm, her eyes flashing wide in warning. Instantly, Corbin plastered the same fake smile on his face, matching with his mom.

       "Hello..." he muttered, attempting to sound lively.

       "As you've heard in our discussions, Corbin here has a big problem..." she paused, sweeping her eyes across the room. The lively chatter had fallen silent,  her control and power over the room apparent to Corbin. She must be an important member. 

       "Someone's trying to take him!" she screeched, startling the crowd. "The devils got his ankles! It's up to us to pull him up. He's sinking in quicksand, he was cursed as a child!" gaps and shocked expressions flooded the room.

       They whispered in mummering voices with tones of concern. "If we don't get him help, he'll be dragged down, and forced to join the devil! In Hell, he could grow to be strong enough to defeat God!" she cursed, emotion pouring out of her voice.

       Corbin stared at his mother in horror. He knew they had never been close. But, the woman he stood next to was not his mother. 

       Her hair had been ruffled up in her yelling, losing the typical shininess. Her blazer had begun to fall off. Her baby blue button up was wrinkled. Her tights sagged. Her skirt had crinkled. Her perfectly polished heels had gotten scuffed up. The venerable woman Corbin stared at was not the woman he knew.

       Standing next to the front row of church benches, he rethought his entire life with his mom. He had never seen her sad, or even happy. The only emotion he knew on her was anger. And here she was, talking to a group of strangers. Being venerable--something she never did to her own son.

       Clenched fists, trembling lips, and burning eyes. Corbin couldn't tell if the emotions he felt were sadness or anger. He simply felt alone. "I've been helping as much as I could on my own," she continued, oblivious to the turmoil happening in her son's head. "But there's only so many prayers and exorcisms I can do alone," she laughed, the others joining, finding the humor in her words hilarious. 

       "The rituals aren't helping, his beautiful pale skin gifted to him from God is fading more and more. The devil stains his skin, and its spreading! I need your help, today."

       All the ladies, some who had started to cry, nodded their heads in compassion. "We can't wait any longer, it has to be done right now," Daisy cried out, grabbing her son's wrist. "Please help me," she begged, her voice raw.

       "Of course we'll help Daisy!" a woman in the front of the group spoke. "Let's all go around back, we can perform a joint ritual that will banish Satan from your son!" Turning, the same woman looked at Lorraine, "Don't forget the candles and fire-starters."

       Hearing this, Corbin looked down at his hands. He knew what would happen. He knew he was used to it, and that it'll be over shortly if he just closed his eyes and struggled through it. However, his gut told him this would be so much worse than the measly rituals his mother attempted alone.

       Staring at the large stained glass painting on the wall, Jesus looked back at him. His face wasn't a smile of comfort or warmth. It was a stern expression. In his heart, Corbin knew it was a warning--a sign from God: he needed to leave, now. 

       With all the sisters distracted, he pulled his wrist away from his mothers weak grip. Before she could turn back to her son to question this, Corbin had already begun running.

       His legs carried him through the isle, past the pews, pushing past the wooden door. His knuckles collided on the hardwood, breaking the skin on the bumpy bones. The blood smeared, but he ignored the searing pain on the bleeding scar tissue. 

       On the outside, he was surprised by the sunset. It was pretty. Marvelous in the type of way that made a person stop to stare. Corbin couldn't afford to stop though, as he tore his eyes away from it and continued running.

       He ran down the steps, and to the street. The thud of the wooden door behind him rang out to his deaf ears. The rush of the wind was all Corbin could hear, his feet carrying him farther and farther away...

Question of the chapter: what is your dream town/city to live in?

╚══《Word Count- 3,408》══╝

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