Feraline

Revenge

Sunday, February 25th, 2007 | mini-story

It wasn’t until two hours of sitting slumped in the corner of the bathroom that she realized something.

There was really no point to it.

She could still see a pinkish tinge to the water that was swirling down the drain in such perfect little spirals. Her skin felt raw and painful from the hot water that was still pouring down over her. The places where those grimy fingernails gnawed at her skin were still bleeding. She could still feel that hot clammy breath in her face (ya wan’ sumah this haney’bunch) and those hands, those awful cold hands grabbing at anything it could touch.

Her right hand was clenched, resting lightly on the floor, away from the resilient spray of water.

She lowered her head on her knees and decided that it was time to think. She had finished with the the tears and repetitive ‘why me?’s. It not like there’s any bloody point to sitting there and screaming and shouting about how unfair it was. She got up suddenly and rocked on her unsteady feet. Little needle-like pinpricks were agonizing her entire lower body. She ignored it and walked precariously out of the bathroom.
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Her mother’s jaw dropped open as she watched her daughter, fully clothed, soaking wet, her skin broken, peeled and red raw, stagger towards her room. At that moment, she made the assumption that her daughter was on drugs, oh lord, oh no, not her daughter, no, something terrible must have happened.
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She saw her mother looking. Did she care? Would her mother really listen? Would she believe her? She looked at herself in the mirror and knew, somehow, even through the tidbits of thoughts (wan’ sumah this?) that her mamma was going to follow her into her room. And she did. Her mother came and sat on the bed and watched as she shed off her wet clothing. Her right hand was still stubbornly closed.

“Dhooni, what happened to you?” Her mother asked her timidly.

“Nothing mamma!” She heard herself say in such a clear voice that it hurt her ears.

“But…all that blood!” Her mother continued. “Something awful happened to you didn’t it? Tell me the truth! Did someone hurt you?”

“No Mamma,” She lied calmly, observing herself in the mirror in her soaked underwear. “I just had a fight with a friend at school!”

“Oh, again!” Her mother said. She could see the relief on her face and almost laughed (gimme some shoogah!) but her face seemed to have forgotten which muscles to use. “Do you want me to do something about it?”

Do something about it. This time she did smile to herself. She could hear him screaming, screaming, and screaming. Screaming so loud and so clear, screaming…screaming… why did the bastard scream so loud? It’s not like she screamed once when he was taking away what was hers. Why should he scream?

Smiling to herself, she went over to her dustbin, her back to her mother, and opened the top, extending her right hand over it. The burst eyeball fell with a squish onto the discarded pieces of papers and hairballs. The oddly disoriented pupil stared at her in what she thought was fear.

She turned around, wiping the liquid mess on her hand with a tissue. There was a slightly too big grin on her face.

“Its fine Mamma, I’ve already done something about it!”

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