Story of a girl and her journey to help herself because of a mother who has become distant
|It was dark by the time I went inside.The candle was burning a waxy smell in my room that tickled my nose. I hauled the night shift over my head and turned on the radio, absorbing the sensual jazz that came from its speakers. The candle danced to the tune, and then the shadows on the wall joined. I just sat with my eyes closed, waiting for the signal to partake in the torturing dinner.
After my calming, cleansing outside, thinking of the one I think I love so much, I would carefully open the door and blow out the flame on the blackened lamp, engraved with “home sweet home” on the glass, which could not be seen now, then I would rest my cold head on the soft feather pillow and allow the idle chatter on the other side to lull me to sleep.
I was awakened by a sharp sting in my stomach that threw my head off the bed in a violent jerk. I screamed like the pain was foreign, but the monster visited every month and tried to tear my insides out. My mother ran in, she had a horrible look at the spot of blood on my night shift, and then she exited and came back with the necessities. I couldn’t help myself, before she left the room she realized that, but she only distantly handed me the cloths and went out looking as though she felt sick. I reached out blindly and called out “mother”, I waited but the response I heard was my own whimper. The tears dripped from my cheeks unto the clean, white cloths. I had never felt so needy and sad before, but I experienced true pain at the sight of my mother walking away from me.
Silence wasn’t an unusual factor in my life, but there was an eerie silence today, the house was rid of my mother and her heartlessness, her only remnant was the tea she left on the table on the table beside my bed, it had grown cold and bland, so I stared at the ceiling stained with rain and the sun, while the throbbing in my lower stomach heightened and I could only allow the tears to flow over my cheeks, to remind me constantly that my heart was broken and ripped.
Someone told me once that we shouldn’t allow one thing in our lives to affect everything, but nobody included the possibility that the one thing could be your whole life. I turned on my side to find comfort and stabilize my pain when I heard a voice singing beyond the wall. The voice was flat and not very beautiful, but it made me feel calm and drowsy until I could only feel something cold wash over me and I had gone into a peaceful world, I felt so tranquil, almost hallucinated, then I dreamt that I was walking to school singing when a big rain came and soaked me. I began crying because of the discomfort of the fabric clinging to my skin, making me uncomfortable, and then I saw a figure limping towards me, a man, stretching a crooked arm to me, I screamed and ran, but the wet clothes kept pulling me back. I woke up in a cold sweat and immediately the pain returned.
It was evening and the sun was permeating its golden rays all over my room, it settled on my skin making me look and feel golden, the warmth rested on my stomach and soothed the pain, then it turned pink and to almost red, burning the room with blend of colours, once again I was at peace and I was again knocked out into tranquility. This time in my dream I saw the man’s face. He looked rough because of the beard but I could see that his eyes were kind. He wore a wide brimmed hat and the raindrops fell off them and into the soft, brown mud. I looked at my feet they were covered in mud and the hem of my night shift was almost destroyed by the brown splatters. I was immediately nervous for I did not know how my mother would feel about it. His laugh made me lift up my head and I laughed along. The sound was unusual but I liked it so much I couldn’t stop. He was about to hold my hand to guide me onto the grass when I saw my mother stomping towards us with a whip and a wild expression. Her hair was released from the usual bun and I could hear her labored breathing. I was afraid but I couldn’t move. My mother has never given me a beaten so I did not know what to expect.
“Mary move!” where did that sound come from, that raised voice could not be my mother. She simply didn’t shout, but I moved anyway. She hauled the hem off her dress to her knees and I saw the scar on her thigh, an unexplained scar. The man’s grip tightened and I knew he was nervous too. I could feel the rough marks of his labour and his heart beat was audible even though I wasn’t close to his chest. She lifted the whip covered in thorns. He lifted his hand to his face, but how did he know she would hit him, after all I was the girl outside in the sheer night shift. I heard the crack and felt a moist splash. When I woke up the liquid from the cup was all over my bed and my hand rested in a small puddle on the night table.