Taming the Whip Goddess

A windy grey night slowly crept in above Currant View with its last golden rays thinning. The final glint of glow casts faint shadows over solid forms by glasses forcing odd images rise, twirl and sway to the tune of blown leaves and shuttering windows by a lone walkway.  

Bent by the knees on a textured pillar, distant revs of tyres is heard far off as heavens' yellow blooms into the arched parlor way illuminating a weary figure in motion.

Nearby this wobbling figure, a frame cranes her neck while mumbling with sore eyes to her weary saviour to stay.

 Rali's View

    I had honestly never dreamed of seeing my fancy model mum dress like she'd been kicked out of a two-star thrift store. Her tie-dye polo looked two times small, with her navel in little display. The colorful tee was barely the size of a stretched fitted crop top, and the camo pants she wore didn't in any universe match the shades of her awful tee.

Her hair was packed in a loose bun- hair as in relaxed hair, no extensions or laid edges and expensive wigs that could pay school fees.

This is hands down the first time I'd ever got to see mum look less like her made up self, and for too many reasons than my gut feeling I didn't like it.

Her hurried outfit was laced with bathroom slipper, those flat green ones that couldn't fit anyone's leg right and took turns cutting at any part especially when there's chipped wood or a loose nail lying around and I could unconsciously feel my heart ache for what mum's soft pedicured nails could face with rusted iron on hot paved road, mum also didn't have her nails fixed or spray her signature Tom Ford perfume that clung to the knobs for days and caused that annoying but scented tickle down the throat.

But admist her patch work dressing her six foot build lunged for the honey-coloured door at the very entrance of the house, eyes set walking briskly, panting. It was as if her legs felt like noodles as she kept using an old sapphire box that I couldn't believe belonged to her because it looked far too worn out, stained with bleach and comical marks like some stray feral cat dug deep gnawing at it help support her movements.

Her fair face looked irritated with the state of things, pissed at the reality that dad was always running around and snickering on the line over long calls with younger ladies, girls little enough to be his children and fairly old enough to give me a knock. He'd done far worse though, like soil our family name with insane comments to making mum's career tougher because of his picky reputation and carnal desires, yet she'd always forgiven them with this time being an exception cause her resolve was firm fixed.

 Striding to the exit or if you'd to prefer say entrance of this building I once saw as our home, the shelter seemed too fiery like a mad baboon's tummy waiting to pass hot green gas in the face of an eager child. The hot green gas from his red stinky butt caught all three children in her life, me being a part of it and genuinely the most affected.

 I really want to call out to mum, plead with her to stay or give some sermon about togetherness yet my being's swallowed in a gloomy sticky glue needing, missing and tearily watching her sapphire box skid past the portal leading them out of our lives as she swings the too fat door in guiding her frame out of our bare existence.

I try believing she'd come back though it'd be late but beautiful like she always did, it occasionally took weeks before she came back after having a quarrel with dad but this time she didn't look like she'd left her prettiest handbag that had extra shiny gloss behind.

The faint lopsided grin that stretched far too wide on her olive skin created a look so relieved, so free, as she turned to spare the interior a flimsy glance that I feared would be its last with her warm brown eyes piercing.

This form, the one I faced that housed sweaty skin, a worn out box, childish clothes, dishevelled hair and no make-up, showed a part no one had cared to know or worry about in my attractive mother; a lone shadowed soul.

A state I soon became too familiar with.