Addiction

• Shyann Godden, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2022

The children laugh in delight and glee their smiling faces radiant with warmth. They jump, climb, run and fall responding when their mother calls. At night she tucks them in and gives in to their demands of “More, more!” reading their favourite stories. She is there when they fall, there when they cry, and comforts them that the monster under the bed isn’t real, that the dark isn’t something to fear.

She justifies to herself that one more couldn’t possibly hurt, she knows it’s a lie, one drink turns into 2 into 5 into 10 and soon enough she can’t even remember when she began. Soon enough she can’t even be bothered to pretend. After a bit she starts sacrificing food, Christmas presents and toys, she even begins to start selling things, anything that could possibly help her buy those last few bottles. She doesn’t seem to care any longer about her children's bright smiles. Smiles that begin to become a rare occurrence, and never shine so brightly as they once did.

As she grows older, she becomes colder when they look upon her with such admiration and wonder. She dismisses, scolds and yells they are nothing more than a bother. Where there was once wholehearted love there is nothing, but scorn. They adapt quickly and learn when their mother is overtaken by hate spending numerous nights laying awake.

As she grows older, those same eyes of admiration and wonder have grown reserved, they stay silent to placate her. They shut their doors and come home later. They know not what they have done to aggravate her, nor can they confide in her. She isn’t present when they ride their first bike, she isn’t present when they receive their first report card or their first medal. She lives wholly in a state of dissociation from those around her. But they are the ones who suffer, hearing stories of caring and great mothers while they sit and reminisce on what could have been.

As she grows older, they escape to college while she remains with only a bottle to accompany her. She surrenders herself completely, no longer does she care about life so melancholy and sombre. Her only fulfillment comes from bottles and cans. She slacks in her career, in front of her peers, they whisper shushed rumours and share glances of disdain. Nothing she does brings anything, but shame to her name.

Now brittle and weak, no grandchildren surround her, no children to care for her. Her eyes remain glazed over with that same bottle in her hand. She does all she can, takes one more sip, then the bottle slips, she takes her last breath with zero regrets. Addiction is her silent killer. Maybe in another life, she could have imagined a different future where pictures filled her halls, of smiles and memories that made her heart flutter. A future where she lives fuller and in her final moments, she is surrounded by family who adore her.