[ WP ] You look out at the bright lights of the city and wonder how you ever grew up .

*Mom and Dad should be here to see this* 
 
 The lights of the city shined through the smoggy air like the sighting of the first firefly on a summer evening. By habit, I squint my eyes as if to zoom in on the plethora consisting of businessmen grabbing a happy hour drink, families enjoying a dinner outing, and young men running late for that all too important first date. My mind attempts to soak it all in by seeing if my eyes are able to read the countless amounts of advertisement that the city has to offer. To my own amusement, they fail, and I take a draw from my cigarette to add to the city's pollution atop this rooftop. 
 
 It seems fitting to witness the joy of families bonding as they venture up and down the streets, especially tonight. Sons and daughters in all their innocence as they skip with laughter, holding the hands of heroes: mothers and fathers. Those times in my life are buried deep within my own mind as if only a portion of my conscious was awake during the time. It is as if I slept on the couch with a movie on yet fell asleep before it commenced. 
 
 Bits and pieces. 
 
 The pieces that I am able to retrieve are commonly found in your ever common tragedy. My mother is beautiful. Father works hard for his family. The sons are all boys to the tee yet each has his own walk of life. Those are the times that are easily brought back to consciousness. Those are the good times. Those are the times that I wish I dream of nightly, but life is not fair. Life will set you on fire and offer you a cup of water only for you to realize that it is actually gasoline. 
 
 Poison entered my family during my teenage years. At first I thought my parents were elevating their social life. Staying out late. Music blaring in the house at all hours of the night, even on nights when I had homework or a night before a major test. 
 
 Seeing your once healthy mother drop down to under a hundred pounds will make you ponder on life. Why are we here? What did I do? The poison ate at her very own will to live. She hated the sight of my brother and I. She despised happiness as well as food. I know that losing her own mother as she mingled with this poison did not aid her condition or mindset, but I hated her for it. A part of me still does, I suppose. 
 
 The noise of the traffic takes me back to stable ground. Something on my right catches my eye. A crow is perched on the edge of the rooftop. Its eyes stare completely through me. The darkness of its feathers almost blends in with the night sky. 
 
 Black. 
 
 The poison was black. I remember. While going to the bathroom to get dressed for school one morning, I discovered the poison. The poison's throne was an eating utensil, and its peasants were my own parents. 
 
 Once the bank forecloses on your childhood home, you forget that you often once dreamed of growing up. Life kills. 
 
 When your father decides that the poison is more important than you, you often question your own self. Life laughs. 
 
 As I stand on a rooftop in the cold and crisp night, I try to percolate all the happiness I can find to wake in the morning. Life is reborn. 
 
 On the other hand, taking one step off of this rooftop may take me back to the times I try so ever hard to remember. 

