Day 205 Writing Short Stories

Sea

The dance of the waves against the shore rocks
The endlessness
The longing to sail away to the open waters and never to return
In that cold water, my heart lies

Back Home

The tightness in the chest was getting stronger, spreading its spidery legs to her arms and legs. The closer she drove to the house she grew up in, the tighter the hold got. She wanted to push the brakes and make the car turn around, but she had to go back home. Her mother had fallen ill, and her sister would never forget if she didn’t come back. It had been years since she had been here, in her hometown, and back at home. She had done everything in her power to stay away, to cut her ties, but then the call had come, and she had heard her sister in tears.

Her sister shouldn’t have stayed, but she had a twisted sense of obligation that had driven her to take care of their insane mother.

She made the car take a sharp turn onto her childhood street, and the spiders latched their spikes onto her. The tingling spread throughout the body. She could feel her mother’s presence. It was unyielding. It was overpowering. It was her, and she consumed everything she turned her brown eyes to.

“Made of iron and stone. My roots run deep in the earth, to my bones, my mind, and my heart. I can’t be broken,” she reminded herself, casting a protection around her.

She pulled the car over to a two-story building with timber framing and white walls. Home, that had belonged to her family for centuries. Passed on to their mother by her mother, and now it would be passed on to her and her sister, equally divided. So it was and had been since they were born. Twins separated by their hearts and minds, but not by their bodies.

The warm glow from the windows against the indigo twilight made her relive all those times she sat in her favorite oak tree, avoiding going in, remembering all those arguments she had with her mother. Her disapproving looks. Her demands. Her possessiveness of her daughters. Her lessons. They endured the darkness that had always surrounded their family. Out there in the world, this gift of theirs wasn’t a burden. It was a joy. She had made use of it, healing bodies and minds. She had delivered babies. She had danced the night away in the heat of the jungle. Swam the deepest oceans, letting the waters of the strange lands nourish her, guide her, share their wisdom. But in here, there was anger, shame, demons, ghosts, and maliciousness. And her kid sister had stayed behind, absorbing it all. She felt it in her heart, how different they were. She felt it even here at the driveway.

She took a deep breath and headed towards the house. The door opened slowly on its own and closed behind her. The stairs leading to the upper floors felt heavy. They demanded that she follow them. She listened to them croak under her weight, and with every step she remembered sitting there, listening to her mother read people’s fortunes, to cast her spells on them, brew them her potions. Every time she had vowed not to become like her. Her mother loved how she commanded the neighborhood women. How they came to her with their silly disputes and aches, and how she decided their lives for them.

At the last step, her mother latched onto her heart. Her bony fingers tightened around it, taking hold.

When she arrived at her mother’s bedroom, she was welcomed with her mother’s brown eyes. They pinned her in place. The lines on her face had grown deep, and the skin hung from her cheekbones. Her brown hair was now ash white. The once strong woman now looked like a hollow doll.

Her sister was nowhere to be seen.

“You have gotten old,” her mother croaked at her. “And still not married, I see,” she added.

My roots, she thought.

“It happens to all of us,” she said with all the calmness she could muster.

“You don’t grow old beautifully. Not like your sister,” her mother said.

It was a lie. She knew it. And it shouldn’t matter either way. She knew that the way she held herself made people fall in love with her before she even opened her mouth. That she looked so much like her mother had when she had been young. And she had had a pick of her paramours. The house had been filled with her lovers. She had watched women and men leave this place with broken hearts after their mother had consumed their love, their adoration, and grown bored with them.

“I thought you were dying,” she replied. “Death should give people clarity and kindness.”

Her mother laughed. “At least your tongue has stayed the same. You get that from me.”

And like always, she knew how to break her. She had run away from those two words, ‘from me’. Words that had been held against her for so long.

And the worst was that there was no comeback. There were no words to make her mother silent. She just stood there mute, watching her mother, wanting so much to flee the country as she had done twelve years ago.

“Mir!” echoed behind her.

She felt hands tightening around her waist. She swirled around to hold her sister in her embrace. The softness of her shoulders, her cheek pressed against hers, brought tears into her eyes. Her sister, Mirabel, was home. She had missed more than anything holding her sister.

“That’s enough, Mirabel,” their mother commanded.

Mirabel didn’t let go. She whispered in her ear, “It’s so good that you are home, Mir.” And her twin sister drew her tighter against her soft body. The spiders loosened their grip on her chest.

She whispered to her sister, “My root.”

She replied, “My bones.”

Website

Because the middle one ran so long, I skipped this one. This is about a bullied person finding a strange website promising revenge.

The prompts are from the book A Year of Creative Writing Prompts.

Back Home just took over, and I just let the story lead me. I think there could be a book in it. A tale told so many times, but a story that is eternal and universal. A story that is played out in so many houses even now.

Thank you for reading ❤ I hope you have a day full of wonder!