A Grieving Mother's Wrath

Ella sat on the toilet in the cramped bathroom of her trailer, staring at her blank reflection in the mirror for minutes on end. For the past week and a half, sleep had eluded her. And whatever little sleep she managed was plagued by visions of that day. That day was supposed to be a beacon of hope and inspiration, shedding light on the good of being a superhero, but ended up bearing bloodshed, sorrow, and loss.

Rebecca.

Her sad demeanor boiled hot, turning into a blind rage that scared her. Interspersed in her nightmares that replayed that day over and over, was a face she couldn't forget. Even if she wanted to. As more time passed, her resolve to bring that person the pain he caused her and so many others intensified.

The whistling of her kettle startled her from her trance. She got up and cleaned up, stopping to admire the definition of her arms in the mirror.

"Jesus!" she remarked, flexing her arms. "I'm fucking yoked."

She would have stayed to strike up more body-building poses, excited and a bit apprehensive of the muscle build-up on her frame, but the kettle's singing grated on her nerves. After switching off the burner, she moved on to a more pressing matter—preparing for Rebecca's funeral. Last week, she had picked out a black velvet dress that flayed at the ends like a flower. Add in a pair of black knee-high boots and a floral patterned shoulder veil, her outfit was complete. It had been expensive, costing a significant portion of her paycheck, but she had to look her best when sending off her dear friend.

Her phone rang when she was applying make-up. A quick glance at the caller ID and it displayed Sandy. Ugh. She felt a knot tightening in her stomach. She let the phone be. However, it rang and rang and rang. Sandy, her manager, was nothing if not aggravatingly persistent.

"Hello ma'am," she said, in higher octaves than her normal voice.

"Where are you, Ella? It's flipping 10 am."

She rolled her eyes.

Yeah, I can read the clock as well, dimwit.

"Yeah. If you remember, last week, I took today off. I have a funeral to attend."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sandy said, pausing for a moment. "Well, it's just that Pen no-showed today. Dominic, too. So we are a bit undermanned."

Ella sighed. "Okay?"

"So… would it be too much to ask if you left the procession around 2 pm and came over? We'd really appreciate the help."

Her phone was creaking from the pressure she applied on it as she squeezed. "Are you fucking kidding me, Sandy? Really?"

"Oh, language, girl. I never raised my voice at you."

"Fuck you, Sandy. Have a stiff one up your ass because you sure as hell need it."

She ended the call and put her phone on silent before Sandy bombarded her with text messages guilting her like the inconsiderate manager always did.

Despite applying to become a superhero, HAVEN was yet to reply to her. She closed her eyes, praying for that day to come sooner so that she could quit at Sunrise Cafe and get as far away from Sandy as possible.

The doorbell rang.

She dropped her lipstick, turning, and hoping t it was her brother, who had disappeared the past week, his phone unreachable.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Nkanga." A heavy hand knocked on her door, rattling the whole thing.

Oh, fuck me. She held her head in her hands.

"Open up, Mrs. Nkanga. We need to talk."

"Mr. Yale. Now's not the time. I have somewhere to be."

There was the sound of mumbling voices, and then. "That's all right. Why don't you come on out? We won't take your time. I promise."

She expelled a long breath. Mr. Yale was her primary debt collector. It made no sense that the health sector retained debt collectors, but in Hermosville; people like Mr. Yale, half removed from thugs, were a dime a dozen, enforcing the policies of anyone that could pay them.

"Ok, quit abusing my door! I'm coming." She tied her bootlaces and grabbed her handbag. Then she rummaged through her empty fridge for a peanut butter sandwich and hastily packed it into her mouth while filling her favorite mug with water. With the water downed, she scanned the room for anything she might be forgetting.

Mr. Yale's fist found her door again as Ella opened her porch window and tossed her handbag through. The window was too small for her to squeeze through. But she had other ideas. She closed her eyes and regulated her breathing. This proved a tad difficult with the persistent pounding on her door. There! She took in a large breath as Ella Nkanga, the human-looking woman that was supposedly a god and exhaled as a copperhead—a pit viper with distinctive, dark brown, hourglass-shaped markings, overlaid on her light reddish brown scales. Her red forked tongue tasted the air as she slithered up the counter, past her potted flowers, and dropped into the sandy ground outside her trailer.

In between breaths again, she grew, sprouting talons and a golden beak as she became a bald eagle with large feathered wings that she spread, showcasing her majestic wing span. Some boys seated a few yards away under a large tree stared, jaw slackened, at her. One of them even glanced at his blunt, then back at her, then at his blunt again.

She gingerly wrapped her taloned foot around the handle of her bag and leaped into the air, her wings catching the wind and providing ample lift. Down below, Mr. Yale banged on her door with two other men standing behind him. 

She soared higher, occasionally beating her wings to remain afloat as the ground below shrank. Despite this great distance to the earth, her keen eyesight noted recognizable landmarks that she used to guide her way. So focused was her attention below that she missed a flock of pigeons that cried when they saw her and dispersed like shattered glass.

The funeral procession was held at Southside Haven Memorial Gardens, the same place where her late mother rested. As she approached the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery, she dove to reduce her altitude, then stretched her wings once more, surveying the landscape. The cemetery was quiet in the early morning hours, with few individuals strolling on the cobblestone walkways.

A small gathering of people, dressed in black, sat in neat rows under a natural canopy of trees at the northern end of the cemetery, save for a woman who argued with Caleb. Ella suspected that was Caleb's mother even though she could only see the woman's back. Fortunately for her entrance, Caleb stood beside a tree, separated from the large gathering.

Ella released her handbag, locked onto them, and dove at full tilt, spreading her wings at the last moment before transforming back into her regular form and smashing into the ground between Caleb and his mother, Elaine, who started, almost landing backward on her rear. Then Ella stood straight and snatched her falling bag out of the air.

"Hello Mrs. Theodore," she said, with a forced smile.

Elaine snarled, her forehead creasing and her teeth grinding. "You! Why are you here? Leave! You weren't invited."

Elaine was a small woman, only reaching Ella's chest, so it looked comical when the woman squared up against her with a scowling glare. However, she could only sigh in response, noting the heavy bags under Elaine's eyes.

"Mom! I invited her," Caleb said.

Elaine switched her focus of ire toward Caleb. "Well, who gave you that right, young man?" The woman placed a crooked finger on her son's chest. "Until you leave my house, I'm the one wearing the pants. Get that through your thick skull."

Tears welled up in Caleb's eyes, his face reddening with a bubbling anger he strained to control.

She pushed away Elaine's hand, which now waggled a finger in her son's face. "There is no need for that tone, Mrs. Theodore. We all came to pay our respect to—"

"Unhand me, you savage. Are your ears used as decoration? You are not welcome. Leave! Leave at once!"

By now, the commotion attracted almost everyone present. Some stood and drew near, while others strained their necks, trying to discern the cause of the disturbance. With his gaze lowered to his feet, Caleb seemed to shrink into himself, giving the impression that he could bolt away at any moment. Ella's heart ached for him. His mother's attitude toward him and herself had been this way from the start, ever since Caleb broke the news of his sister's death. The memories of that day still lingered till now. Elaine had erupted like a raging volcano and Caleb had received every insult, snide remark, and belittling statement known to man. And he had given none in return, always trying to defuse the situation.

His grave sin in his mother's eyes was his failure to protect his sister. The unjustness of Elaine's statements astounded her. Caleb was barely a teenager at thirteen. How was he expected to protect his sister against the likes of what she battled against at the Radiant Tower? Crocman. Killer Cell. She had tried to relay that viewpoint to Elaine, only to bring the woman's never-ending vitriol on herself. At least Caleb had some reprieve at that moment.

She regarded Elaine once more, determined to put an end to the confrontation. "Mrs. Theodore. He is thirteen for chrissake. Is this what Rebecca would've wanted? For you to be berating your son at every opportunity? We all came here to remember what a great person she was when she walked among us. Not to hear you endlessly babble like a deranged parrot for weeks on end. Please, give it a rest today. I'm begging you."

Oh, crap. I might have overdone that.

Elaine's lips quivered with stutters, her eyes widening into saucers. "W-w-what d-did you just say to me, young girl? You think you can just waltz in here, spitting insults at my daughter's funeral? Remove her name from your goddamn stinking mouth. You disgraceful whorish buffoon! You inbred imbecile! You motherfucking overgrown bubblehead!"

Elaine stormed forward, stamping her feet toward Ella, but a hand… Jalen's hand grabbed the woman's shoulder and yanked her back. Her rear met the wet earth.

"I apologize for the force used, Mrs. Thedore," he said, fingering a cufflink on the end of his button-down shirt. "However, I can't let you assault a guest at this gathering. Who knows what might happen if a fight breaks out."

Elaine spat. "Leave! None of you are invited."

Jalen raised an eyebrow. "But that is simply not untrue. If I remember correctly, Caleb asked us to attend and here we are."

"Leave! Leave! You are not welcome." Elaine turned to the other guests. "These people killed my daughter. They have to go. We are not starting until they leave."

Ella's beating heart spiked when hearing those words. If she never invited Rebecca to accompany her to New York, her friend would still be alive. She wanted to apologize for the hundredth time about that fact, but she kept quiet instead.

Jalen smiled. "For that to happen, you'll have to remove us yourself."

Then he sauntered off toward the seating area, briefly pausing to rest a reassuring hand on Caleb's shoulder. The absurdity of the situation finally dawned on Ella. Did they even have to entertain Elaine's antics? She shook her head, pulled Caleb's arm, and headed after her brother. 

Behind her, Elaine continued to shout, calling for the priest to throw them out. When that failed to work, the woman elected to call the names of her relatives to help her throw them out. However, most people smartened up and went back to their seats, leaving the angry woman by herself. A few relatives tried pulling her to her feet, but Elaine snarled at them, telling them to leave her be.