Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash
“Nothing to worry about.” Her four-year old sobs, his fear real but the threat is not. His mother valiantly removes the cricket that clings to his favourite Thomas t-shirt and order is restored. She picks him up and carries him inside to play with his sister who is constructing the next Guggenheim with her Lego. He is happy again. Coiling herself into the green leather armchair, she pulls the lever that extends the footrest. Her legs feel like lead and she relishes the sinking of her body as gravity pulls her into the worn cushioning of the chair. She has so much to do, but she just needs this moment of rest while her two children play so sweetly. The bright sun shines from the skylight above her, warming the skin of her exposed arms. She yanks out the sensible hairdo that is scratching at the back of her neck and lies back. She smiles lazily. Look at them, sitting side by side, digging through the Lego mountain in search of the perfect piece. She should take a photo- one for the album. But her phone is on the bench, and this sit-down is just too precious. The weight that began in her legs has now spread to her eyelids. This is the perfect time for her to-do list, with the kids so content. Just a minute or two, she promises and allows her eyes to close. She meditates on the twinkling sounds of hands swimming through Lego, soft humming and intermittent chatter. Time ticks on and she knows she should get up. Her children’s voices morph into dreams of holidays and fantasies, until their voices disappear altogether. Her dreams take a new shape. Shadows prickle her skin, and her mind wanders to more ominous thoughts. There’s a click of a door, and footsteps. The children. Did she lock the front door? Because sleep wasn’t in her plan. She needs to pry open her eyelids. But then maybe this is all a dream? She lucidly meanders through deep restfulness and cautious warnings. To wake or not to wake, that is the question. A cry echoes from a distance. She shudders. “Mummy! Mummy!” Like wading through a pool of tar, she drags herself out of her slumber. She sits up, her eyelids still glued shut, and as she pries them open, panic sets in. Lego is sprawled all around but no children. Her hair swirls wildly around her face. She falls out of the extended recliner, hitting her shin on the leaver as she scrambles and shouts for her children. She runs to the front door but then hears noises from behind and changes direction. “Where are you?!” The bathroom! She skids on her polished floorboards and turns into the bathroom. Her daughter is lifting her four-year old to the sink as he rubs his hands under the streaming tap. The remanent sound of a flushed toilet ends its cycle. “I did a wee-wee,” the boy says. “Nothing to worry about.”
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What's this about?Did I say I love writing? I think I did. Here are some of my short stories that I'd love you to read. Archives
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