Mum

• Jenna Hoyle, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2022

The dripping of the tap echoed throughout the room in a consistent beat. White, grout-filled tiles were scattered across the walls, multiplying every time I opened my eyes. I looked at my wrist to tell the time, but something had caught my eye.

I was five years old, so why was my arm wrinkled?

A pat brushed against my shoulder, and a quiet ‘ahem’ quickly followed suit.

“Madam?” A voice whispered. It belonged to a woman.

Madam? I was way too young to be called ‘madam’. Am I not? And who was this woman standing next to me? She wasn’t my mother. And where was my mother anyway? I swear she was here a moment ago.

The woman gently pulled me toward the large bathtub. It was half empty, with the clear, inviting water waiting patiently to consume me whole. What didn’t help was that the dusty yellow light resting above me kept flickering apathetically.

When I got inside, I noticed under the thick layer of water, that my limbs were frail and vascular. My skin was carelessly sliced with wrinkles, dusted in discolouration, and painted with faint veins all over. I looked at the woman, who now sat next to the edge of the tub, confused. Her eyes shifted from me to her feet, then the ground. I turned and stared at my thin calves in the water while she continued to face the floor. It stayed like this for a few minutes before she got me out to wrap a towel around me and pat me dry.

Before I knew it, the door had creaked open and there was now a stranger in the room. She wore a white button-down and a tired, quivering smile. I could see a photograph held tightly in between her fingers. It seemed to be two figures, or creatures, I didn’t know. My vision was a bit blurry.

The stranger opened her mouth to say something before closing it in hesitation. Now sure of herself, I think, she opened it again.

“How was your day, Mum?” She said.

I furrowed my eyebrows in even more confusion than earlier. I did not know this woman at all. And I did not like that she was talking to me that way. She observed me with this glassy look in her eyes that left me puzzled. The room was as silent as a cemetery. I want my mother and I want to go home but no one was pressed to answer me. The stranger reached to touch my hand and to this, I flinched, because I don’t know her. I don’t know her at all, so why was she here?

Tears flowed down her face as she wiped them off with her sleeve. They fell on the photograph, which turned damp. She covered her face and hurriedly stepped out of the room. Everything happened so quickly. I could hardly remember what was going on. But I was still confused.


I miss my mum. Where was she?