April 12, 2015

“There was something in the basement. It jerked and twitched. It was not a monster. It was mother but without her mother face. She sat in a corner, rocking in her favorite chair, which was bashed and splintered. Each time she rocked, the back of the chair struck a wall. The chair grew weaker and weaker. The splinters grew larger, changing from shards to planks. The chair disintegrated beneath her. Mother rocked the chair into oblivion.”


“Mother was barefoot. Her clothing was soggy upon her. Mother lay on the tiles for a long time. Half of the tiles were gone, patched over with thick layers of uneven plaster. The plaster created a thin floor that was best not to walk upon. And so mother lay to the side of that gone hole. If she rolled onto the plaster, the hole would reopen, and mother would drop to the basement.”


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