She Don't Want the World

Written for a writing challenge based on the song below.

Sitting at her kitchen table underneath a single, flickering bulb, she looks around at the mess that he has left. Seems dinner wasn't quite right and Lord knows that is reason enough to set him off.

Rising from her chair, she winces at the pain she feels from her cotton sundress rubbing against the remnants of his fury. Who knew slightly overdone pot roast could elicit such rage?

Walking across her tired, linoleum floor she makes her way to the sink and grabs a towel, using one end to wipe her tears and the other to pick up the scattered food and broken porcelain from beneath her feet.

Staring out the window that is yellowed by his smoke, she can not help stare at the lonely tire swing which hangs from the only tree in her tiny yard. Soon she begins to drift into a memory that seems shockingly close to the scene before her now.

A little girl hides behind a wall, her dolly in hand, waiting for the coast to be clear. She wants to run to comfort her mother who is crawling on the floor in an effort to clean up every last piece of food that her live-in boyfriend thrashed against the wall. Seems he didn't like the spaghetti.

She hears the back door slam and knows she has but a few minutes to help clean the mess or there would be hell (more hell) to pay. If she were caught helping...well, the first hell would feel like nothing in comparison.

She runs to the sink as fast as her little feet can carry her, slipping in the sauce but keeping on her feet. No time for falling. She grabs the towel from the counter and quickly gets to her mother. She uses one side to wipe the tears from the woman's tired eyes, then begins to sop up the mess he left.

The little girl turns to see her mother staring out the dirty window, the one yellowed by her smoke. She walks over to her and touches her shoulder. Her mother winces as the girl's tiny hand rubs against the remnants of his fury.

Snapping out of her daze, she brings her focus back to that lonely tire swing. She remembered the words her mother said that day. She said that all she wanted was for her daughter to have the world. She wanted to give her daughter a chance at a life worth living and so she justified staying where she was. How could they ever make it on their own? She sorely over-estimated a seven year old's ability to understand such adult things, and so the child learned what she lived...and ended up living it herself.

Now here she stands, tired and sore, heartbroken and soul-crushed. Placing her hand tenderly on her stomach, she grabbed his hunting knife from his utility drawer. Making her way back to the table, she pulled the string attached to that flickering light rendering the room nearly pitch black. A small beam of light poked in through that dirty, little window over her sink...and she waited.

Like her mother before her, she don't want the world. But, she would drag him to hell to make sure her baby had a chance.






©Truly Ross-Wisehart

Author's Note

Reviews

[Shante Payne]

Wow this is amazingly powerful. Just like that I want to know what happens next (though I know this isn't a chapter). You give the story like an expert on the situation and it is heartbreaking how so many people go through this. I am glad that she has the courage to break the mold and save her child's life. Amazing, I loved it.