Passive
Passive
“Sweetie, bring mummy her sewing kit please,” she gestured to the corner where it was kept, wrapped up lovingly in a basket, waiting. Her eyes never left my face, eyes light blue with silver flecks surrounding the pupils, piercing into me. A smile danced across her lips as the first tear fell from my eyes.
“Please”, I whispered the word, my throat suddenly raw. My ‘Please’ hung in the air for a moment before seeming to fall to the floor. It meant nothing to Mother. Bobby slinked across the room, holding the basket aloft, looking at me all the while.
“Mummy, why is Isabella crying?” His eyes met mine for a second before the fear registered in his eyes. Mother dropped her eyes from mine to smile lovingly at Bobby.
“Because Isabella has been a bad girl and she needs to be punished,” her kind tone went with the soft strokes of her hand on Bobby’s head of white blonde curls.
“Now why don’t you go and get a start on that project of yours? What was it again...?”
“The romans,” Bobby’s voice seemed to echo around the room with excitement.
“Yes that was it. You go start and I’ll be along shortly.”
Bobby ran towards the door and was just about to shut it when he said, “Will … Isabella be helping too?”
The eyes were back on me again, burning into my very soul, it felt. The tears were falling harder and faster now. My eyes looked down at the basket and I began to whimper uncontrollably.
“I don’t think she’s feeling too well. Are you, poppet?” For a second I saw a flash of Mother as she used to be, as Bobby would see her, as a normal Mother. I opened my mouth to speak but Bobby shut the door.
Her white fingers slid quietly into the basket and pulled out a needle and thread. The needle was sharp and pristine and glistens in the light. She took her first step towards me as I fell to my knees and started to scream.
“Please”, I whispered the word, my throat suddenly raw. My ‘Please’ hung in the air for a moment before seeming to fall to the floor. It meant nothing to Mother. Bobby slinked across the room, holding the basket aloft, looking at me all the while.
“Mummy, why is Isabella crying?” His eyes met mine for a second before the fear registered in his eyes. Mother dropped her eyes from mine to smile lovingly at Bobby.
“Because Isabella has been a bad girl and she needs to be punished,” her kind tone went with the soft strokes of her hand on Bobby’s head of white blonde curls.
“Now why don’t you go and get a start on that project of yours? What was it again...?”
“The romans,” Bobby’s voice seemed to echo around the room with excitement.
“Yes that was it. You go start and I’ll be along shortly.”
Bobby ran towards the door and was just about to shut it when he said, “Will … Isabella be helping too?”
The eyes were back on me again, burning into my very soul, it felt. The tears were falling harder and faster now. My eyes looked down at the basket and I began to whimper uncontrollably.
“I don’t think she’s feeling too well. Are you, poppet?” For a second I saw a flash of Mother as she used to be, as Bobby would see her, as a normal Mother. I opened my mouth to speak but Bobby shut the door.
Her white fingers slid quietly into the basket and pulled out a needle and thread. The needle was sharp and pristine and glistens in the light. She took her first step towards me as I fell to my knees and started to scream.