SHORT STORIES

they/them

Please skip if you do not want to read any of the following.
[TW: Talks of abuse and suicide and sexual assault]
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The plane was leaving in less than 10 minutes but it's taking me so much difficulty in going up to the air stewardess to hand in my boarding pass.

A wave of panic sneaks behind me - hugging me, clinging onto me for dear life. My heart is beating in and out of my chest, a tight feeling swarms around my head - my vision almost blurred.

I want to hurl.

But I don't. Instead, I ignore the weight that is attempting to anchor my feet into the ground and walk over to the lady with the bitchy green eyes, gorgeous eye makeup and a crumbly red matte lip, and give her my ticket.

She rips the dotted bit off, like a ticket to the movie theatre, and gives me the larger bit. She pulls out this dry, fake smile and says, "Enjoy your flight." The exhaustion and annoyance laced in the words. I nod gently.

I stop thinking. My mind is blank as I look for my seat, next to this small baby and his mom. He's tugging on her hair and she laughs at him, tickling his sides, a loud baby giggle erupts from this tiny human's mouth and it makes the rest of the cabin gape.

Okay, it's kind of cute.

I'm sitting in between this woman and her baby.

She apparently got two seats for herself. Maybe she was waiting for someone.

^^^^^^

It's 5 I think - but I don't bother checking if it's day or night, all I know is that the kid's asleep and the mom is shot down dead. She's snoring a bunch, which is keeping me awake. I'm sitting by the window so the kid can stretch his body as he sleeps peacefully cuddling in his mom's arms.

I had a friend whose mother was his best friend. I'd imagine that something like this kid and his mom was something he'd experienced when he was a kid.

He'd tell me about how his mom would take him to school every day and how'd she'd cook meals for him every lunch, so he'd feel the genuineness from his mother. The kind of love a fairytale mother would give to you.

He had one.

My mother - on the other hand - was cruel. I never told him the extent of her cruelty.
She was abusive, with her words.
She'd tell me stories about how it was my fault my sister was killed, even if she was suicidal from birth.

I can't be mean to her because she's dead. What kind of psycho would be mad at someone who was already dead?

She wanted to die. She'd cry to me every night about the pressure mom put on her in doing well for school. The hope and joy that would escape from her mouth when she finds that her firstborn had gotten a Williams Grand Award - an award solely for the smarter kids.

My sister loved me. My father loved me. My mother wanted me dead.

It's something I found out young and something I can't change.

Unfortunately, the universe killed the only two people I loved.

Dad passed away because of a tumour that was eating up his organs. Something I didn't even know he had. Mom had finally told me that we didn't have enough money to supply his medical bills.