The Floorboards Scream

All childhood prodigies amount to shattered promises and unfulfilled dreams when they reach high school after surviving off insincere statements of praise and participation trophies for the entirety of their youth. It occurred quite often within the nation and Will existed as a statistic to that data. Peaking at the mere age of fifteen settles harshly with a person who established higher achievements for themself only to find that they solely feel viable in their vividly realistic daydreams. A vessel that used to function beyond expectation transpired into a mechanical spirit who fell victim to the repetitive nature of his mortality.

Opening his eyes at eight in the morning, he initially commences reminiscing on his nightly reverie. If he obtained no closure to the storyline from his trance, he would allow himself to sleep for an additional fifteen minutes. Turning over to his sleeping bride, he granted her a morning kiss on the lips. Typically, as if his skin lacked cleanliness, he would shower for at least twenty minutes assuring to wash behind his ears and under his nails as his mom would always remind him each morning about how most people would forget to wash those parts of themselves - including herself - which led to the grand reveal of her private moments behind closed bedroom doors at other homes where she did more  sleep. 

Each forenoon when he desired to deviate from the standard, Will shampooed and conditioned his coils and allowed the hair product to cascade down his golden melanin. On occasion, soap would trickle down the side of his face and sneak past his eyelids until the water droplets and his tears formed one entity. After handling his hygiene, the male still harboring qualms from his former days as a child, selected an outfit from his wardrobe that reminded him of the authorities that used to constrain him, resembling a white button down shirt and a black pair of jeans, prior to departing from his closet. Beyond his comforting walls, he trudged across his drafty dwelling to greet his family as he knew he would not see them until he returned home after work. 

Approaching his parent’s room, he made sure to knock as he did not want to intrude on their time together. His father often reminded him about how God blessed the world with very little time, so he planned on utilizing every second of it. At a young age, Will never had his father home with him when he woke in the morning, however, now he got a chance to spend more time with the workaholic. His mother, on the other hand, worked from home yet created a bigger distance between her and Will then Will’s father. She typically conversed with him solely to ask him to handle chores as she found more interest in talking with random males that Will did not know on the phone. Traveling to different states, his mother even went to the extent of going far to meet up with these men. Fighting for attention growing up, his parents set the standards high as to what they seemed worthy of their focus. Years later though, they now find themselves at home more frequently which makes Will more prone as opposed to obligated to cater to their needs. As they still lay asleep, Will fluffed their pillows, poured them each a fresh cup of daily tea that overflowed the tiny cup, and adjusted their blankets in case the house’s coldness affected them. Like his wife, he kissed them goodbye until he came back to inform them about his day. 

Across the room lies his grandmother. She inhabited his house as his grandfather cheated on her six years ago ending their marriage to court a female three times younger than him while she battled cancer, so, in Will’s perspective, his grandfather died in his eyes long ago and was not worth preserving. Giving his grandmother a hug, his empathy jumped out of him which he believed assisted her in remaining conscious. 

Exiting their room making sure to close the door, lastly, Will walked into the intense pink drenched nursery to greet his daughter, Atlas. He entered new realms through her eyes alone as she supported his universe through her mere existence. Rocking her in his arms, the father coddled his daughter's smooth form. Rubbing her cool skin, he pressed his lips against her temple. 

Inescapable, Will completed the same mundane routine until his body completed each task out of muscle memory. Obligated to care for their supplementary needs as their unemployment checks and 41k alone could not sustain all of them, he could not stay with his family all the time, though he felt more chemically stable with his relatives. Regardless, he adapted to the world outside his shelter and integrated well into society - other than his smell. 

Some described it as rotten fish while others described it as the inside of a mouse trap. Far from naïve, Will heard the whispers about him yet could not figure where the smell originated from as a hyperfocus already danced on his hygiene. Some days he ignored it while other days he attempted to scrub off his skin as if that would rid him of the smell, regardless, it never worked.

The young man’s occupation as a sports journalist who obtained no interest in sports, failed to quench his insatiable search for validation. He devoted his time to diligently writing articles and novels that he did not expect to offer another income for him when he parted from his family which led to him garnering a multitude of accolades and promotions, none of which brought him satisfaction. Why should he gain pleasure from elementary achievements that others received? Completing graduate school did not stifle his appetite for success as neither did composing two bestselling novels in a saturated writing industry. A man who constantly lives in his mind obtains myriads of stories to share and audiences often express getting lost with literature and articles donning his name as it permits them to get a glimpse of his perspective of the world. Most found his comprehension of the English language well-developed resembling a feast of Korean barbecue cooked in front of them controlled at their own pace with a large variety of meats to indulge upon. Digestible, their meal went down with ease despite the overwhelming details present on the dinner table and though uncommon for their own culture, they discovered a new experience by consuming the barbecue.

Will did not know the why even while knowing the how. Why did he develop a cult following for his published works? Why did people find an interest in his works and why could they relate? Why did he share an award with Toni Morrison?

            Click. 

            The secretary of the news office transferred a caller inquiring about him to the journalism department.

             No one ever called on his behalf which caused his sweaty palms to tighten his grip on the landline telephone, accentuating his paling knuckles. Initially squinting slightly, his glossy dark brown eyes widened in anticipation. One monotone voice call deemed him the youngest laureate to win a Nobel Prize in Literature. Concurrently, a Black contemporary writer has not won within the past two decades. Fostering good journalism practices, influential novels, essay collections, and his fair share of released poetry, he stood out as a nominee. Will’s heartbeat started to increase.

            “I overheard the news, is it true?” The voice of his older coworker queried. “I heard when Darcy transferred the call.” 

            At an inability to formulate words, Will simply nodded.

His coworker let out a quiet shout in celebration. “Congratulations! This is a major milestone in your career! If I were you, I’d contact your publisher to release another horror novel. Your thrillers offer so much more to the world than whatever crappy story they got you covering next about our state’s losing football team. I’m so excited and I didn’t even win! I know your  mother must feel proud, because I know I am.” Will stretched his back out in an attempt to sit straight. 

        “Proud?” He questioned in a smaller voice than usual. Shaking her head in confirmation, she acknowledged his statement.

          Congregating around his grandmother, Will rounded up his beloved ones to share the news that dissipated his indifference. Holding his grandmother’s hands, he glanced into the direction of his slumped yet anticipated family members. His grandmother’s delicate dead cold hand on his own brought him assurance.

           “Today someone conveyed to me that I am an official winner of a Nobel Prize in Literature. I will  accept my award in December and it just got posted on the website.” Will explained. Mentally, he heard his co-worker discussing her pride in him. He imagined his own mother saying it too, however, she remained quiet. 

They all did. 

They all stared at each other as if  even getting inducted as a Nobel laureate deserves no praise. Darting his attention to the body attached to the arm he cradled, Will caught his grandmother’s gaze which he relied on for support. Waiting for her half open eyes to move, he noticed that they never did. Her body simply rested in the corner, halfway propped against the wall. Blinking, he took note of his grandmother’s missing patches of hair on her head despite the shadows hiding her true form in the dark. The smell became more distinctive than ever. Looking at his grandmother’s decaying limb that he clung to, an immediate disgust washed over his body more dutifully than the stream of hot water colliding with his body each morning. A blurred line nestled itself between his grandmother’s afternoon nap and her final rest. Somewhat betrayed, he turned to his parents for comfort who could not say anything in return. Approaching the bed of his parents, seeing the lack of presence in their demeanor, he reached out to touch his mother’s face to only feel a freezing waxy texture. A sensation that reminded him of Atlas though his mother actually acquired skin. Heaving, he heard the thud of his wife falling off of her chair and their doll of a daughter tumble off her lap. Dropping to his knees, the sight of his wife on the ground helped him to recall her death that he blocked from his thoughts.

A tumble down the stairs caused her neck to snap and the bundle of joy in her stomach to lose its mother. Rubbing her neck from afar, he caressed the bone that still stuck out prominently. Skidding back across the floor, Will wanted to distance himself from the corpses of his most loved family members. Regardless, sliding back too far caused him to bump into the nightstand and cause his parents' antique teacups to smash against the floor which exposed the tiling to the piping hot beverage. Surrounded by glass and dead bodies, Will cradled his legs into a ball. His goal no longer held importance as he wondered what would happen if others discovered his family in their current state. 

Would they mistake him as a killer? 

Would they view him as disturbed? 

His gut prayed that the ears on the wall consisted of the only listeners before him. Anxiety threatened to flood his body yet Will combusted at the seams wanting to reignite his exuberance. Therefore, he dragged each of his loved ones' limp bodies to the dining room so he could engage in another family meal, though he could not guarantee its definition as a last supper. Observing his entire family seated at a table in celebration of him caused his skin to cover in goosebumps.