The Day Earth Died

23. Liz's Mark

I feel a crisp breeze on my face. The earthy smell of mud with a hint of rain tickles my nose. Somewhere, water soundly dribbles and drips. My chest feels light. I open my eyes. My neighbourhood, empty. Yet it doesn't feel as lonely as last time. I don't feel alone and a muffled, foreign noise makes me consider it might be more than just a feeling. I trail the sound through the streets up to my house.

I stick my ear to the door. It's a woman. I can't narrow down the tone of voice to a person. I wrap a hand around the doorknob and twist it a bit but halt for a moment and hesitate. Could this be a bad idea? Who knows what I can find, deep in my own head. I shake the thought off and open the door slightly. Mum. She's there. She's alive. She's... She's injured. That bandage around her leg... Her anger, her sorrow. I know when we are. And I know I shouldn't enter the house but I do anyway.

Mum is on a chair, facing 14 years old me who's sat on the bed. They don't notice me. It's like I'm not there. I lean back on the door and watch as an argument I know too well ignites.

"You weren't there," mum says.

Young Malory's gaze is set on the wall beside her head to avoid her dead eyes.

"I'm... I'm sorry, mum. I was at the river with friends. What happened to you?"

"Can't you see for yourself, Malory?" She lifts her robe to reveal the bandages twirling around her left leg.

Young Malory's eyes get teary. She feels like she has betrayed mum.

"I thought you'd be okay. Y-you never let me help you. I didn't mean to—"

"And yet look what happened. It's your fault. I didn't birth you so could play around and leave me behind to die."

"No, of course not! That's not what I—"

"So are you going to owe up to your mistakes?"

"Yes," young Malory mutters.

"Uh? Are you?"

"Yes, mum."

"I can't walk anymore. I can't go tell stories for the orphanage. I can't pan for jewels. It's your task to care for both of us now, in any way you can."

Young Malory's tears flow but she steadies her breathing and clears her throat so mum doesn't hear.

"I-I will. Don't worry."

"And remember, you're my daughter and I'm your mother; you owe me."

My breath is knocked out of my lungs at the three words.

"I... owe you?" Young Malory tests the words, without suspecting they'd become her life's burden.

"You owe me your life. You owe me your blood, sweat and tears. It's time to pay up."

Young Malory doesn't reply.

"Never forget that you owe me, Malory," mum concludes and the room falls to a cruel silence.

Young Malory quietly wipes her tears. Mum quietly suffers. They are even for now; they are okay for now. But I'm not. My heart pounds in my head, each thump more painful than the last. I stumble out of the house. Mum's words repeat in my head, over and over like a mindless prayer. I want it all to stop. I want it all to fall quiet. I want to go back home.

'You owe me, Malory.' I owe her. I do. I will never pay off my debt.

I make my way through the streets, sick with memories. My stomach burns and my throat widens. Bile travels up to my mouth and I fold, vomiting in the mud.

'You owe me, Malory,' mum echoes, ceaseless. My ears ache. The words are so loud. My breathing hastens like it has a mind of its own.

'You owe me, Malory.' I stagger around, nearly at my breaking point. I want it all to stop. I want it all to fall quiet. I want to go back home. I approach a barrel of water, a viscid idea sticking to the walls of my mind, feeding on my desperation. I sink my head into the bitterly cold water. Slowly, I inhale the liquid. It floods my windpipe, down to my lungs. I choke and almost yank my head back up but hold still. My hands grasp the wooden edge of the barrel, shards painfully digging in my flesh. I focus on the sting and let myself drown. My vision darkens, my muscles weaken, my head grows heavy. And I die.

That night, I had my last nightmare.