Alone on a White Canvas

This story is based on a dream.

There were two women and a dog.  He had this place under control like some kind of suburban prison.  Tall, white haired and scruffy, this man was not for them. 

I looked around against his will, but he had my mother and it was my right to see her.  The other woman was inviting and seemingly content with this situation.  She served us tea and asked us to wait in the small living room, which was full of cheap decorative cats and elephants, or antiques as she kept calling them.  I was with a girl, gorgeous and mine.  Straight blonde hair, green eyes, slender but still curvy, and she was holding my hand.  We sat there waiting.

He sat in a faded blue recliner.  He would stare at me whenever I wasn’t looking, and I did the same in return.  I didn’t know why my mother was there.  This was not her idea of life, and by no means was this white haired man her type.  He and his fat mistress who served us tea were talking about her like she was some kind of prize, like they had won her.  We didn’t know how or why she was there, I just knew she was and that I was taking her with me.

She arrived about 10 minutes later with groceries.  She didn’t recognize me.  It had been several years since the war ended and we had lost touch since, but something was wrong.  She kissed the man on the cheek and proceeded to put the groceries away.  He would not stop staring at me.  I asked to speak with my mother outside and she asked who I was and why.  She followed us through the front door.

She knew who I was and told me that the man inside was the “savior” and that I should show him respect.  After the war, she was left with nothing, but I had a decent job with Homeland Security and sent her money every month.  We stayed in touch during this period, but one day she stopped calling.  I didn’t hear from her for over a year, but people disappear now and it needs no explanation, according to the government. 

We looked for her, but post-war American life doesn’t leave its citizens many options.  There is no transportation out of this state and after 2 months of searching, we had to give up.  She continued to apologize for not contacting me, and said that this white haired “savior” is the reason for existence and that she cannot live a day without him.  She had bruises on her arms, clearly from him, but she kept saying that he cannot do wrong.
My mother had no concept of reality anymore and was submitted entirely to this abusive old man.  We pleaded with her and begged her to come with us, but she refused.  He came outside with a bat in hand and told her to get inside.  She ran inside immediately.  He walked down the porch stairs and stood about 6 inches away from me.  He just stared and smiled.  I looked down at the pavement for a moment. 

When I looked up, I was alone on a white canvas.
 

Reviews

[perfectlymetiKulous]

Wow... quite moving and beautifully done.
Your complete command of the words on this page is very clear.
My favorite lines:
"This was not her idea of life, and by no means was this white haired man her type. He and his fat mistress who served us tea were talking about her like she was some kind of prize, like they had won her."
I really appreciated the 'like they won her' part... you have a lovely way with wording, and I really hope to be able to read more of your work soon! Great job!

[Bhavya Kaushik]

This was not her idea of life, and by no means was this white haired man her type. He and his fat mistress who served us tea were talking about her like she was some kind of prize, like they had won her

I agree with my fellow reviewer, these are really the most powerful lines of this writing..
I really loved the imagery and the command of language here, very well penned!
Great work :)