𝙾𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙴𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢-𝚝𝚠𝚘

Knowing Mum hates sand through the house, I leave my runners by the front door. I stuff each of my socks inside each shoe. My belly begins to rumble.

Don't over eat when you get inside. You've kept to the plan so far today. Keep it that way.

My stomach feels as though acid is eating at its walls. I could have two slices of toast tonight and then not eat another night.

You're in debt then. And like a debt, you'll have to pay it off. Not eat tomorrow night.

Surprisingly, Mum's inside. Cooking in the kitchen.

Another reason not to over eat. Eat at all. She's in there.

Having walked to my room, I place my bag down and see my FujiFilm Instax also on the wooden floorboard. It must have fallen from the top shelf of my bookcase; I certainly didn't put it there. I pick it up and turn it over to place back on its shelf —

It definitely fell. The lens is cracked.

Why would it have fallen?

I arrive back in the kitchen, maybe intuition leading me here. "Do you know what happened to my camera?" I ask with dejection, "The lens...it's broken."

"I twisted my ankle looking up there," Mum responds, limping from the cutting board to the stove.

Why was she needing to look up there? All that exists on that top shelf is random memorabilia.

Mum's back is now facing me. I cannot achieve anything by pushing my point. Seventeen years living in this house has taught me that.

Billie bought me this camera. I love taking photos with this camera; sticking them on my wall, taping them in my scrapbooks. I really value this camera and now it's broken. I can't afford a new one anytime soon. It's not even easily replaceable for me.

Tears welling up in my eyes, I go to walk back to my room.

"My body's giving up on me," Mum says, having turned back around, "Including the finger I have no feeling in." And she holds up the finger she cut during the altercation.

My mother is unbelievable.