Sticky

     My hands were greasy as the dubbin was all over the place. I glance over my right, looking at several more shoes for blacking. The smell of the polish gave me a headache but I needed to continue or else mother will get the whip again. The rhythm as I patter and shine the old leather did not manage to deflect my worries of mother lying restless in her bed. It started since yesterday when she got the fever. I am hoping that it's just a fever though, the bed is soaked in her sweat and her groaning makes it unbearable for me to be by her side.

A lot of nagging on the other side of the room as the couple Bill and Helena Hickok, my step parents hammers their words away as they break and shatter the ceramics, it's becoming a tradition. Helena hates Mindi, my mom as she was the new wife and I was her daughter. The new town that we've settled in practices polygamy and strangely, it seems that Helena is jealous about the new relationship going on. Bill however, was not a loving husband or father at all.

My mom didn't care to investigate the commotion as her fever could have dulled her senses. Turning back to the scene, I stop the glide of the cloth to hear them better.

"Who the hell does she think she is?" Helena's voice magnifies as she stares down on Bill. "Oh, since she's sick she could rest all day and you, turning a blind eye just because she's your new whore!"

"Careful what you say to me woman!" warn Bill, with his withered finger pointing at her, Helena went a step back to calm herself down. "She's staying and that's that," He murmured. Turning his back on her, Bill took a cigar from an iron casing and rests it between those dry fleshy folds. "I can have two, three even thousands of wives in my house!" He storms right off the room.

"GO TO HELL BASTARD!" Helena exclaims, throwing off her tantrum while Bill continues to ignore her as he slams the door on his way outside.

Her limp and lifeless hair wreathed her face. Still berserk, I fear what she will do next. I carry on with the polishing and yet she didn't yell at me nor hurt me. But as I fear the worst, Helena charge right in my mother's room yanking her hair as she drops in frail to the wooden flooring.

Mother whimpers on as she struggles to contain the pain conducted by Helena. Being drag to the sitting room I couldn't move a muscle. Her brown mane still tangled on the witch's claws, as Helena's wrinkled facial textures and eyebags supports the picture.

"I'm above you and you're below me, you are my slave!" exclaimed Helena. I stand, braving myself in front of her I pleaded, "Please she's sick, just let me do the cleaning."

"Shut up stupid girl, you're no better than your mother Moriah, you'll have your turn on the cane," she unclenched her grip, shoving mother's head to the ground as Helena screams near her eardrums. "Scrub the floors you bitch!" Helena savours the wicked aura, and for a second I thought she was done. A burst of energy came swinging as her feet sliced the air, her dull red boots pierces through my mother's frail body.

Mother groans as the impact met. As she breathes, the effort of grasping more air looks hopeless. Slowly yet shaken, she reaches for the brush while her voice quavered for a moment, and then she regains control. Utilizing her weight as a force, mother furbishes the run-down floor carefully not missing a single spot.

I couldn't stand what Helena did, my rage puts myself in a fragile situation. I hope she lay her fingers on me so I could use it as gateway to protect myself, I wanted to prod her eyes out till the red soaks my finger, until her scream fades from the choking of her own blood, until red would be the only color she will remember. And the only thing she did was walk past me as if nothing had happened.