He once told me that he had had this nineteen sixties lava lamp for years and years. His mum had been about to throw it out when he indicated that he wanted it, and she said take it. It was the only thing she had ever given him, the only whatever qualifies as a present. Nothing ever for birthdays or Christmas.
She never did much for him. Of course she fed him as a baby but as he grew older he had to fend for himself, taking whatever he could find to eat in the kitchen, in the fridge, and hoping his older brother hadn’t got there first.
He didn’t know about love. Affection was a non-existent in that household; I don’t think that he had ever had had a proper hug from his mum, and certainly not from his brother. There was never a father.
The newspaper headlines all used the word “feral” after sentence was passed. They picked that up from the prosecutor. The word cropped up a lot, especially when the shrinks were on the stand.
I reckon he would have been okay, would have made it, if she hadn’t smashed up his lamp. Drunk as usual.
Written for Sunday Photo Fiction 200 word challenge.