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(© Biswapriya Purkayastha)

Page 1

Before opening the front door, she slipped off her shoes, hoping Mother wouldnít know she was back for as long as possible. The doormat was gritty under her bare feet, and she grimaced. It should really be dusted out, but she didnít feel like doing it. Call it her own little bit of rebellion; Mother never came down any longer, so she wouldnít know that it was dirty.

The door opened silently to the pressure of her fingers. She kept the hinges oiled meticulously since she couldnít risk a squeak alerting Mother that she was back. This way, if she tiptoed around and was careful, it might even be an hour or two of freedom before she would have to announce herself to Mother, upstairs in her bedroom.

Today she was lucky. She put her shoes in the rack, hung up her coat on the rack by the door and walked to the kitchen, where she made herself a cup of tea. Standing at the kitchen window, she stared out at the back garden. It was beginning to get weedy, and she knew that if she didnít get down to a session of gardening soon Mother, whose bedside window overlooked the garden, might decide on chastisement.

Near the wall on the far side of the garden, the car stood, covered in tarpaulin. She had loved to drive, once, but didnít dare take it out now. It had been Motherís car, still was, really, and she couldnít risk getting a scratch on the paintwork. Also, the engineís noise would tell Mother that she was back, and she couldnít risk that.

She didnít like the commuter train, which was full of the smell of sweat and other, even less pleasant odours. And only last week sheíd been groped, her nipple twisted through her clothes, but before she could even turn round in the crush her assailant was gone. No, she didnít like the train. But she didnít exactly have a choice.

Finishing her tea, she padded to the bathroom and slipped off her clothes. In the mirror she looked herself over and grimaced. Her hair was stringy, her eyes black holes poked in the pallid flesh of her face. She looked ten years older than her true age, and felt it, too.

Once her body had been pretty, a long time ago, when the world had been fresh and new and full of adventure. Those were the days when sheíd been glad to be a young woman, glad of her own budding adolescent sexuality, and rejoicing in her hopes for the future.

Oh, things hadnít been all good. There had been Mother, even then, to deal with, but there had also been Dad. Dad had had been bad in his own way, with the drinking and the other thing, the thing she didnít want to think about, even now. But Dad could be depended on, always, to take her side when Mother began to lay into her. She had lost count of the number of beatings Dad had saved her from; and despite the other thing, the thing she didnít want to think about, she still had tried her best to be at home only when Dad was around, so he could save her from Mother.

But then Dad had left. Dad had left in the middle of the night, silently, without a word. She had gone to sleep, hearing him move about in the next room, and woken the next morning with a blankness in her head and no trace of Dad in the house.

They had never heard of him again.

And then there was only Mother, and Mother had declared that it was the two of them against the world. Mother would keep her safe, and never let her get into danger. And she, in turn, would keep Mother safe, when the time came.

There would be no boys. There would be no dates. There would be no escape.

She had never had a moment of real freedom since.

Lying back in the bathtub, she ran her hands over her body and imagined how easy freedom might be. All she needed, really, was a sharp blade, and the water would soon run red as she sank into sleep. Since Mother never came downstairs any longer, it might be a long, long time until anyone found her, her body drained and empty of blood, already rotting. It would be so easy.

But she couldnít do it. She couldnít do it for the same reason she couldnít just leave Mother and walk away, as she was tempted to, every day, at least once or twice. She couldnít do it because Mother had taken care of her and kept her safe, and now it was her turn Ė her duty Ė to take care of Mother and keep her safe.

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Genre:General Horror
Type:Short story
Rating:6.42 / 10
Rated By:27 users
Comments: 1 user
Total Hits:6615

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