My Mum

• Sharanya Singh, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2022

“Mum,” my thirteen year old self called, hastily re-wrapping the envelope-which had printed on it the logo-of Katherine High School. “Mum; there’s a post for you!”
“Oh Estella what’s it with you toda-,” but before-she could finish, I had-blindfolded my mother’s eyes. My palm lay softly on her face.
“Come…just- follow me,” For the first time, my-words fluttered in the morning breeze like butterflies. My mum’s-blue-shirt glittered-in the-sunshine.
“If this is a regular old bill-,” mum smiled.
“Okay, three, two, one…tada!”
Eyes the size of Halloween-pumpkins, mum snatched the-envelope from my hands and gaped at it. For what seemed like a year, her eye contact with the letter was broken, by me waving in-her face. The gape turned into a-smile.
“Darling!” my mum mouthed, pointing at the lavish envelope. “This?”
My head lolled up and down, nodding. The next thing I knew was I was calling her name.
“Mum!” I called. “Mum!”
“Miss, miss, miss…,” a policeman grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved them behind me.
“My mum…she was at the grocery store in the morning to buy me a reward and she hasn’t come back since! I came-I don’t know-anywhere, trying to look for her and now I…I don’t even know where I am! Sir, it’s getting dark and I need to get back home to find my mother! Help me, please…,” I screeched with blurry eyes which were now starting to water.
The policeman hesitantly let go of me. Behind him was a large police van and a smashed, glittery, dark-blue car which appeared to have undergone an accident…
“IS THAT MY MUM’S CAR?” I demanded an urgent answer.
The officer took off his glossy cap and placed it across his wide chest in resentment. I know what that means. I wish they hadn’t taught me this in school when-we-were-talking about the world wars, because then I wouldn’t have been drowned under water.
Suddenly I fall on my knees. I start thumping the concrete road with my fists. I urged to kill the road like it killed my mother.
“Was there another guy involved? What happened to him?”
“He also died on impact, miss.”
“Good.”
I burst out laughing. Then my laugh turns into a frown. Then that frown turns into a look of guilt and that’s when everything stops. My pulse is a child, using the slide-one turn after the other. Up the ladder, down the slide. My eyesight hasn’t acted up like this before: spinning like kids on the merry-go-round. My head smashes down, gazing at the last thing it gazed at, for the last time that early Saturday night.