Filth

Chapter 1

Here is chapter one for you, enjoy!

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It was six years ago today. The day my whole life changed, the day everything I knew came crashing down on me, the day my mother died.

It was a seemingly ordinary day. I was sitting on my brother Sammy's bed, a mere six years old, trying to cheer up my ill brother. 'Come on, Sammy,' I whined, 'that was a good joke!'

My brother's pale face twisted into a forced grin but it immediately fell as he groaned. He clutched his stomach, heaving in my direction. Squealing, I jumped up from the bed afraid he would vomit on me. I wouldn't be surprised, he vomited on Bertha Allan yesterday at school. But that was quite funny because she's not exactly nice anyway. I think she had a slight crush on him, I suppose that's gone now. I know if a boy vomited on me I'd never want to go near him again. Ew.

'You're really sick, ain't you?' I asked. Sammy just gave me flat look, slumping back against the bed. A bead of sweat formed on his brow as he heaved again, leaning over the bed and retching, nothing came out of course, he hadn't eaten properly all day. Whatever he had was terrible, he's been laying in bed since he came home after vomiting all over Bertha.

'Do you know what it is? Is it bad? Does your body hurt too? I could try and find out, tell me everything -'

'Danielle, let your brother rest.' reprimanded my mother from the door. Her blonde hair was tied up in a scruffy knot; she must have been twisting her hair like she did every time she worried.

'But Mama, I was just -'

She cut me off, fully entering Sammy's room, 'No, Danielle. Now is not the time for your hundred questions.' Her tone was gentle yet I knew I couldn't argue with that voice. Crossing my arms, I huffed and went to the wooden chair in the corner. Mama was carrying a tray with tomato soup, Sammy's favourite. You'd think he would look happy but he just eyed up the food, a sudden look of dread crossing his face.

'Mama, I don't think I can eat that. I'm not -' He rubbed his stomach, groaning softly.

'Nonsense. You haven't eaten all day.' She set the tray on the table beside his bed. She sat on his bed, gently running her hand across his face. 'Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry you're so ill but not eating won't help.'

I joined them in the bed, nestling next to Sammy. He smiled, 'Careful, I'm diseased.' I giggled and lay beside him, crawling under the covers. It was cold outside and I was dressed in only shorts even though mother kept telling me to cover up more in winter. I usually tried to brush off her remarks with a grunt and a weak promise to be more careful.

Mother ran her hand across my face, making me smile. Her warm touch was the only one that could calm me, even my father, the nicest man in the whole world, couldn't do that.

She took the spoon and was about to feed Sammy when he suddenly tried to sit up, grabbing for the spoon. 'I can feed myself, Mama.' His weak eleven-year-old body then fell back, 'Okay, maybe not.'

Mother laughed, 'Better put that pride aside. It's never dishonourable to ask for help when it's needed, you better remember that. I have a feeling that you'll turn out like your father.' She gently smiled and took the spoon, feeding him a few spoonfuls. He suddenly retched and before I could jump out of the bed, vomited whatever little he had in his stomach all over my shirt.

Screaming in disgust, I leaped out of bed, 'Gross, Sammy!' He groaned an apology, at the sound of his weak voice my anger dissipated. 'It's okay, don't worry.' I shuddered, the heat from his vomit radiating through my shirt. I ran to quickly change my disgusting shirt, rushing to throw it in the wash basket.