iii. t r a n q u i l i t y ;
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"Tell me a story, abuela."
A grandmother smiles, her lips pressed to her granddaughter's forehead. "What kind of story would you like to hear tonight, my little Isabella?"
"My teddy wants to hear a happy story."
The grandmother sits down on the edge of Isabella's bed thoughtfully. "Very well, mi amor."
___
The small girl perches on the edge of her seat. She is perfectly still, a bird about to take flight.
Across from her sits a man.
They sit in the ritualistic fashion both the little girl and old man have become accustomed to the last few weeks.
He watches her over the top of his expensive laptop, thinking. She is so small, a black bird in a sea of white.
The girl stares ahead, unresponsive. The soft rise and fall of her chest and the flutter of eyelashes upon her porcelain cheek is the only indication of life.
The man watches her with thoughtful eyes as he walks towards the door, letting in a woman.
"Dr. Moussa," the old lady mutters, watching the girl intently. "Any progress?"
It was a cloudy day in mid January when the old woman and fragile girl first walked into his office.
His eyes take in the stark white cast around her arm, the echo of bruises that caress her arms and legs.
The girl sits on the white leather couch as the woman whispers the girl's unfortunate tale.
___
"What is your name?"
The girl's eyes flicker towards him. It was the first time she had ever acknowledged him. Slowly, her eyes move away, never to return.
"Will you talk to me?"
His questions are met with silence.
The old woman returns one hour and twenty-nine minutes later, stepping into his room. "Any progress?"
That was four months ago.
After every session, the woman asks the same thing.
And after every session, she receives the same answer.
"Next time, we will achieve something."
___
The girl walks hand-in-hand with her grandmother, her gaze on the horizon. She subconsciously steps on cracks in the footpath and her grandmother shudders as she is enveloped by a memory.
A child's song. "Don't step on the cracks or you'll break your mother's back!"
A gentle laugh. "You know that's not true, darling."
A slight shrug of the shoulders and a soft giggle. "I love Mummy, I don't want to take any chances."
Her grandmother's lips tighten at the irony. She tugs lightly on the girl's hand, leading her on.
People recognise this girl. But her expressionless features, the muteness, is foreign.
"Little Lucia. Don't you remember what a beautiful voice she had? The music she used to make. Brought me to tears more than once. It's a shame that the poor canary finally stopped singing."
These are the whispers that follow the old woman and little girl home.
___
Sharp pains shoot down a mother's back as she manoeuvres into her chair. She grits her teeth together and tightens her jaw, stifling her cries as she hears the front door open.
A black clothed figure runs past her, and she swallows down the lump that rises in her throat as another door in the house slams.
A kindly face appears around the door, it's expression sad as the woman reaches for her. "Ah, Maria."
Maria swallows once more as she says lamely, "I couldn't see the sky from my bed."
"I could have opened the curtains for you when I got home," her mother chastises, her words soft. She knows more than anyone else how much Maria misses the sun, the wind on her face, being able to move without the assistance of a goddamn chair.
"How is she?"
"The same. The doctor promises next time we will achieve something."
"Four months, and nothing has changed. She still won't look at me."
The mother and daughter sit in silence.
Maria craves the burn of vodka, to feel alive. But then she remembers what the alcohol took away from her, and the urge passes.
Never again.
"Sing to me, mama."
Her mother obliges.
"Sleep, my little darling
Close your sleepy eyes
When again you wake
We'll fly through the skies."
This song that reminds Maria of better times. When her daughter would speak, when Maria could stand and run, when the world wasn't shattered into a million pieces.
___
Lucia is a mess.
She storms through the house, slamming her bedroom door, throwing herself onto the bed.
She couldn't stay in this house any longer without suffocating.
"NostopIhatethisgetmeoutofhere."
Lucia chokes, struggling to breathe. Scrambling off her bed, she runs down the hallway and out of her house.
She doesn't stop running.
Lucia hadn't run in so long. She only draws to a stop when her legs burn and her breath rattles on its exit from her mouth.
It is by twisted chance that she ends up in the one place she had dreaded returning.
Flowers and teddy bears crowd around a telegraph pole. Weathered pictures of a four year old girl flutter in the wind gently.
The smell of rain fills the air. The bear Lucia herself had placed almost five months ago rests inside its cardboard box, untouched by the elements.
Her sister wouldn't want her to be like this. Her sister Sofia, who smiled when she smiled and cried when she cried.
Lucia swallows back her sobs, picks up the bear, and begins to sing.
Sleep, my little darling-
The first sound she has made in months.
The song holds a whisper of her old self.
It's during that rainy day, rocking the bear back and forth does Lucia finally make peace with what has happened.
___
Isabella is asleep. Her grandmother smiles gently, pulling the covers up to her granddaughter's chin.
She leaves the door ajar as she walks down the hallway where her daughter and son-in-law converse quietly.
"Goodnight," the grandmother says, kissing them on their cheeks.
Her daughter looks up at her, a smile dancing on her lips. "Thanks for babysitting tonight, Mum. What story did you tell Bella?"
The old woman's eyes are bright. "Mine."
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YOU ARE READING
for the sake of insanity
Short Story// in which a girl offers you a collection of shorts, additional scenes + more
