Shattered

A story about an alcoholic mother and her young daughter.

Her 15 year old daughter, dressed in the  three triangles that supposedly passed for a bikini, left the tiny room, slamming the termite ridden door after her. No doubt going down to the beach with that good for nothing boyfriend.  How closely her daughter resembled her, before the strain of life began to weigh her down. Perhaps that was why she resented her own daughter, all the reminders of what could have been.

“Good riddance,” the woman mumbled, glad to be alone in her run down cottage again. Uneasily she drew herself up on the stained sheets and brushed her thin, mouse brown hair from her chapped lips. Her fingers found the sticky bottle on the beside table. She took a mouthful of scotch. The bottle was half empty already.

Her daughter hates her. 

Her daughter always thinks she knows best.

Her daughter doesn’t realize how difficult it is, to raise a child in these conditions. With no family, minimum wage and no help from the father, it was sure to be a struggle from that one reckless night. Stupid romantic Camaro. Ha!

A knock came from the door. So quiet she almost missed it. Either way she didn’t bother getting up. Just someone trying to sell something, her feeble mind reasoned. The knock came again, louder this time, more forceful, she couldn’t continue ignoring it. 

“What!” She hollered impatiently.

“Get dressed and let me in, mum, we have company,” came the reply.

“Damn, girl! Who is it this time?”

“Please, just let me in,” her daughter implored, exasperation thick in her voice.

With a huff she rolled off the bed, landing on the foul carpet in a heap. She stood on hesitant feet and peered through the black curtains. The sun streamed in and stung her bloodshot eyes; she staggered back with a shout of surprise and hit the bed frame painfully. 

The bottle of booze, already precariously balanced, rolled off the edge of the mattress and smashed into the bedside table, landing on the floor in a heap of shards. 

The woman dropped to her painfully thin knees and clambered, fretfully, to the spilled contents. Her alcohol muddled thoughts spun out of control, making her forget the visitors. 

She put her face to the ground, furiously lapping up the alcohol, before it seeped into the carpet, disappearing forever. The glass cut into her hands and tongue. Blood, mingled with bitter alcohol filled her mouth. It was a coppery taste, like old pennies, that mixed with the bitterness of alcohol. She was grateful for the sharp pain, it overwhelmed the emotional agony that was her constant companion these days.

“No!” She screamed, “oh no, no, NO!”  The liquid escaped her, soaking away from her searching tongue.

A single cough drew her attention from the floor. She looked up, face set in a nasty snarl, ready to shriek.

Her daughter was blocking the doorway. A young man stood behind her, dirty blonde hair covered half his face and his eyebrows were raised to his hairline in thinly veiled disgust. 

“What are you doing here?” The older woman snapped. She stood to her full height and drew her dressing gown around her exposed body.

“In case you forgot, I live here too, Mother,” her daughter said with contempt.

“Don’t call me Mother, girl, it’s disrespectful.”

“Then don’t call me ‘girl’ either!” The young woman spat, crossing her arms over her chest.

The woman gestured to the young man, “what’s this moron doing here?”

The ‘moron’ looked up, his muddy brown eyes stared at her accusingly, his lips popped open in slight offense. “Hey...” He began.

“Oh, shut up,” the young woman brushed him off, her eyes not leaving her mother. “We have something to tell you.” She said, taking a small step towards the older woman, even standing at her full height she was quite a bit shorter than her.

The older woman turned to a draw and tugged it open roughly. She took out a cigarette. “Don’t mind if I have a f*g, do you?” She lit the smoke. It wasn't like she really cared what they thought. 

“Go ahead,” her daughter allowed, “you might need it.”

“OK, so what’s this thing you have to tell me?” The woman asked. 

Her daughter looked her in the eyes and took a deep breath, steeling herself. She placed a single loving hand on her belly, and simply stated, “I’m pregnant.”

The older woman took one long drag of the cigarette and blew smoke right in her daughters face. She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Get out,” was all she said, calmly pointing to the door. 

Reviews

[Irony Is King]

Rad! Really well done. The description is great and you can feel the griminess of the subject matter.

[Rose Fire]

Thank you!