"Mummy...Could we make-could we make las-las-lasanna for dinner tonight please? Mummy?" The little boy asked timidly, fiddling with his hands, all the while staring at his small, trembling feet. Mummy was drinking the red liquid again-Mummy was always drinking from that dark green bottle that made her either really angry or really happy, and Jackson hated it. He hated how that made Mummy slur her words, made her happy, where the pictures Jackson drew for her didn't. He was only eight years old, yet he already knew how to make some hot food. It nearly always burnt though. "Mummy? Please?"
"Oh, shut up you absolute scumbag. Make it yourself, and for me too. You're a mistake, you know that Jackson. I knew I should have followed your Father-had an abortion, packed up and left." Mummy's words stung-tears pricked at the little boys eyes. Reluctantly, Jackson crept out the room and started to make dinner for himself and his Mummy. Jackson desperately wanted a hug from someone, anyone, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Not with the Monsters he saw, at least.
The first time Jackson saw them was when Mummy started to drink-when he was about three and half. Mummy staggered home, after leaving him at home with mountains of popcorn to keep him happy for the night. The clock on the oven had read something after one o'clock in the morning. Dead asleep on the sofa, Jackson awoke suddenly with a scream when something heavy fell on top of him and started to plant something wet on his cheeks. "Sh, sh, sh, sh, sh...Jackson, sweetie, shhh...It's only me, honey..." But Mummy's face wasn't what little Jackson saw. It was the face of a hideous beast that no three and a half year old should ever have to see. It still frightened Jackson, and all the other Monsters he saw four and a half years later-even though Jackson loved Mummy, he couldn't forgive her for making him see them.
"Bring Me Home..."