My Short Stories

She's Gone

Leave a comment saying what youu think .. hopefully its not too bad :/

Patricia

 I stare at the plate of chips that my Mum has just put in front of me, expecting them to do something interesting, like the haka. Mum’s been trying to fatten me up since I got back from the hospital. The nurses had finally let me leave last week when they weighed me and I had put on a stone. They told me to empty my pockets but they were already empty so they decided that I must’ve been eating so they let me come home.

       Ha! They’re so stupid. Did anyone even notice that I had finished a two-litre bottle of water literally just before I went into the room? Did anybody realise that my skirt was uneven at the waistband because I had tucked weights onto a belt beneath my abdomen? That’s how gullible they are. They can’t beat me. No one can. I’m an expert.

       Mum’s looking at me desperately, eyeing the chips and then glancing at me again, giving me an encouraging nod.

       “The weather’s lovely; isn’t it?” I say, picking up my knife and fork, my daily plan kicking into action.

       “It’s a nice change from what we usually get,” I continue, cutting the chips, leaning forward with fake hunger in my eyes.

       “Is that a new top? Wow, it’s lovely, really. Gosh, these chips are so nice. Are they different to what we usually get? Do you have enough? Here, have some.”

       I tilt my plate over to her plate and push half of my food onto her green salad. She doesn’t seem to notice. She simply eats her salad, nods at what I say and tries to answer my questions as if we’re having a real conversation. I grin at my cleverness.

       I continue cutting my chips, scraping my plate, never taking one bite.

       “Wow, I’m stuffed, but thanks so much.”

       I stand up and scrape the remainder of my chips into the bin, still talking at the speed of lightning, speaking what seems like a thousand words a minute.

       “Well, I’ve got to go to school. I’m late already. Bye!”

       With that, I’m gone, leaving my Mum sitting in her chair, blinking like a dazed rabbit.

       I catch my reflection in the window and I give myself an over-dramatised bow.

Alexandra

Most girls would be terrified if their mother cried every day. For me, it’s part of the routine. My sister doesn’t take it well though.

       There’s shouting coming from downstairs. That’s what scares me. I mean, Dad’s horrible and scary and when he shouts he spits and it’s always Mum and I who he spits at. I hate feeling that disgusting streak of saliva spray into my eyes.

       “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” he’d scream whenever I’d try to wipe my eyes. I hate him.

       Now, there’s a sudden change of atmosphere, but I can’t tell why. Even Lisa, my big sister with Down syndrome, takes a gasp and stops sobbing.

       Dad never says a cruel word to Lisa. Not even he could do that. But Lisa hates watching him shake me; yell at Mum, getting right up into our faces. I feel like she wishes she could be in my position instead of on the sideline where she is. She doesn’t want to be on the outside looking in. In a way, I understand her completely.