Oh Why Mother?

• Mersina Hristeff, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2015

Icy bitter wood amongst clenched fists. Knees closely pressed together. Fresh tears mixed amongst freshly dried. Why do you make such a noise? Why are you capable of such screams when the same angelic voice has been used to sing lullabies? How such a voice can soothe me to an unendless rest yet be the result of the worries of the world prodding my mind. A face of beauty with eyes that conceal a story to all. Oh Mother, if only your gentle touch could be accompanied by gentle skin, yet scalps graze my palm as I wonder why the colour red is smeared across your arm. For a colour so bright shouldn't be worn on one’s skin, yet as you attempt to conceal it, don’t you see Mother that I know? For I am your insightful child who has listened endlessly to your instilled knowledge. Those boundless nights of reading do improve my awareness, yet as my eyes lower from the heaviness of the lids, don’t you realise that I hear your weeping as you caress my face. Your salty tears dropping like rain drops across my cheek, sliding down as they soak amongst the blankets. Don’t you assume that I hear your aggravated remarks, wishing that things would be different? “Oh Thomas please forgive me for my future actions; you must know I did it out of love”. Yet as you raise yourself from your trusted side on my bed, I constantly ponder whether I should grasp your wrist and answer to your never ending questions. However each and every time, my urges are pushed aside as I settle on the better approach. Nevertheless as I reflect on this now, maybe I should have grasped your wrist and asked about your intentions. Oh Mother, how that small action would have prepared me for the betrayal. Bloodcurdling screams, followed by vile blows as your arms are marked by fresh wounds. Your attempts to escape as firm hands carrying the shiny black belt circle your fragile wrist, will never escape my mind. If you had stayed, maybe I would be in a better condition now. Oh Mother how I yearned for you as I matured. My first day of high school, first friendships, first kiss. To leave me with Father was a mistake I blame on you. Why couldn't you take me with you? Oh how life would have been! You and I against the world. Yet as I lay my eyes upon you now, the same eyes amongst a face of beauty, it is these questions that arise. With rain pouring down my face, corresponding to the tears you wept every night before my 8th birthday, I look at you from across the street. Same smile. Same hair. However… is it the same mother who abandoned me amidst the vicious beast? Perhaps I will never know, as I focus on my feet, one in front of the other, while I follow the course down the street, leaving you behind.