The Knife Edge Light

Short fiction

I don't know how long I've been here this time.  The air is almost comforting, dark and heavy, and you can feel it caress you when you close your eyes.  Sometimes I'll listen to my breathing, and if I start to feel too warm, I rub my face against Momma's dress.  It is satin, and it always feels cool to me, no matter how hot it gets.  I listen to my breath, in and out, and try to make it as soft as Momma's dress. 

 

I am waiting.

 

There is a knife edge of light on the floor, stubborn fingers of the sun pry at the edges of my prison and assure me I haven't waited too long.  It was never very long.  Usually after I quit crying, when things get quiet, she will let me out and make me promise to never, ever be so terrible again.  I quit crying Momma.  I'm not begging anymore. 

 

I can't ask, though.  If I ask, I stay in.  I close my eyes a moment to imagine total darkness, but they fly open, almost against my will, as the darkness closes in, the walls breathing silent and coming close beside me.  I look around in the dim, and stretch out my arms far, making sure things stayed as they should.  The walls remained.

 

So often I am sorry.  I try so hard to be good, and I never ever get good enough.  Today I forgot my spelling book.  I didn't mean to.  It was right on the desk, then teacher said to clear off our desks to go home, and I put it in the desk with the rest of the papers.  I tried to tell her, even as the wine on her breath assaulted my nose and her words reminded me that I would never, EVER, be able to be good enough.  I know she didn't want me.  I wish it wasn't my fault. 

 

She pulled me up close, my shirt bunched in her fist as she cuffed me upside the head, doing her best to knock some sense in me.  It hurt less when she hit me.  When she didn't, when she told me she had given up and there was no way to make me better, that hurt more.  Today she tried so hard to knock sense in me, slapping me with one hand, holding me in the other before she shoved me into her closet, against the outdated shoes that looked like they belonged on witches (I never ever dared tell her that), telling me I could be out again when I knew how to behave.

 

I told her I was sorry.  I was crying, though, and that was never a real apology.  The real apologies come later, like acts of contrition.  I would recite my sins to my mother superior, promising to do better and endure any punishments which might yet be served.  If I did well, I was hugged briefly, and kissed, told that I could do better if only I would try.  If it wasn't good enough, dead eyes would look at me with no light in them, and in a toneless voice she would say, "You'll never learn.  You're just too stupid."

 

It would be over, either way.

 

The light dims and wanes.  My hands in it no longer hold a warm glow, but are fading and mist-like.  I think for a moment if it would be better to be invisible, and never fail her again.  If maybe I could be fading and not the light.  I close my eyes a moment to take a breath, measuring nothingness as it weighs in my lungs.

 

I wonder -- if I dissolved now if I would go to hell?  I had yet to expiate my sins.  Is there a purgatory for children who intended to be better?

 

I put my hands inches from the door, worrying that even my touch may warn her that I wished escape from my quiet time where I was supposed to consider how to remedy my sinful nature.  I touch the satin again, and imagine a mother who might where it.  Never had I seen Momma in a dancing dress.

 

The knife edge fades to dull gray, and I touch its shadow briefly as it dwindles like hope.  I take a breath and close my eyes, willing away panic.

 

I am waiting in the dark.

Author's Note

This is my first thing posted here. I'm interested to see what people say.

Reviews

[Timothy R. Berman]

I love how you opened this story. Captivating the reader, grabbing the reader's attention and keeping them interested. Nicely wrapped up in the end where you bring the ending full circle, back to the beginning.

A very unique style, a unique voice. This definitely was a very good read. Hope to read more.

[Anna]

wow that was splendid!!!! I loved your imagery! All i can say is, WOW

[WritefromtheHeart]

Oh my goodness....this is so amazing. Tell me why you aren't published? You should be...you made me sit right there beside you in that awful, dark closet and cry. I am so sad for her...I want to hug her close and take her away from all of it. You made me cry.