We watch the window with curiosity. We thought we had seen movement from the outside. A quick flash before it went back to the emotionless black.

     We wait for the movement again with our face a foot away from the glass. We are sitting on our knees. We don't look away.

     We sit here for what feels like an eternity without witnessing the flash again.

     We become bored and run our hand over the glass, begging it to do something in our head. Come on, there's nothing to be afraid of.

     Sadly, like always, our wants aren't met. The blackness outside the window doesn't change.

     "No fair," we mutter, standing.

     We approach the wall with the sun and stare. Sir did not seem to mind the painted wall.

     The sun's eyes were simply black dots, they did not hold any emotion. The smile was a curved, black line. The sun did not look bright and happy.

     We cross our arms. "I guess you get to stay."

     "Isn't that swell," the sun responded.

     Our stomach felt hollow. We have not eaten since the pizza. The alarm that told us to go to sleep has went off twice since then. We do not want to eat the food we have in the fridge and cupboard. We are afraid of the possibility of more insects.

     But, we have to eat at some point. Might as well eat now.

     We open the fridge and find no black dots. We take out the last apple, now soft. We also take out three hotdogs.

     We eat in silence. The food we consume is tasteless.

     We ponder recent events. Receiving the painting supplies from Sir, actually painting. Sir getting angry. Sir sharing pizza with us. Sir has done more good things for us than bad recently.

     Why?

     We don't know. Not knowing scares us. We wish we had a hint of what's in store. We don't though, we must wait blindly.

     He probably has something bad planned for us.

     We wonder what.

     A black figure disappears in the room with the toilet. Our eyes widen and we tense up. What was that? Is it going to kill us?

     Maybe it's friendly.

     We don't know.

     The figure doesn't reappear from the room. We decide to investigate after we finished our food. We slowly approach the room.

     Once we're at the door we push it wider, it creaks loudly. We analyze the room. Nothing is there. We peer behind the door to no luck.

     We pout and head to bed before the alarm goes off. We have nothing else to do.

     We squirm in front of the mirror. Sir holds our head still as a quiet buzzing sound fills our ears.

     Sir had already cut most of the hair with scissors. He is now evening it out so it doesn't look messy.

     We don't like the way we supposedly look. We do not look appealing at all. We look ugly, scary. Our skin is white and our eyes are surrounded by black.

     The buzzing stops. Sir lets go of our head. He unplugs the cord and wraps it up. He was taller than us, he was able to look over our head to the mirror.

     "Now you look like the boy you are," he stated. He ruffled our newly cut hair. "Do you like your hair now?"

     We had no opinion. We nod our head anyway.

     We stare into his eyes from the mirror. We try to decipher his thoughts and feelings. He quickly looks away.

     Sir eyes the holes in our shirt. "Now, I'll need to be getting you some new clothes aren't I?" He tugs at the fabric around one of the holes causing it to tear further. "I'll see what I can do."

    He left with the object that made a buzz sound and the scissors. We turn back to the mirror.

     Our hair was yellow, nearly white. It was no longer past our shoulders, it now barely went past our ears. We run our hand through it. Do we like it?

     We can't decide.

     We look down to find a pile of hair next to our feet. We slowly nudge the pile away with a foot and grimace. We do not like the texture.

     We shove the hair into a corner and leave. We shut the door behind us.

     Sir has done another good thing. He's scaring me.

     Won't be nothing we haven't gone through before.

     We sigh and gather our remaining paint supplies. We bring them to the room with the bed. We have decided to paint a heart for only us to see.

     We smother the wet paintbrush in the red and create the shape. We are proud of managing to remember how to make it.

     We remember.

     I fold the piece of paper in half. I flip to the front and grab the blue colored pencil. I write at the top, "Happy Mother's Day!"

     Once I finish writing that I grab the red pencil. I draw a huge heart that covers the rest of the page. I color it in. I want her to know that I love her.

     Once I do that I flip to the inside of the card. I write:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
It is mother's day,
And I love you!

     I use the red pencil to scatter hearts along the rest of the card. On the back I wrote a large "I love you."

     My mother sat on the recliner. She wore her lilac robe and had a book opened midway through. I stood in front of her shyly.

     She looked up at me as I softly tapped her knee. She smiled kindly. Her eyes shone at me. She made me feel happy just like that, all my uncertainty washed away.

     I grin as I hand her the card. She takes it and studys it, turning it in her hand before opening it.

     I can tell she reads it a few times before she says anything. "You are the sweetest boy in the whole world, come here." She pulls me into a hug.

     I want to stay in her arms forever.