LUCKY( A short story)

Chapter Seven

She remembered those days, and weeks, in late autumn, inside the red house. She remembered them well. She was seven months pregnant then.

On those long past days, she would sit at the table and eat with her Mother and Father. Her Father; he had never looked her again, but when he did his eyes said Whore. He was always disgusted of her. He wished her gone. And she did what she could to hide herself. She would sit at the table with her head down, and try as much as possible to make no sound. She would bite, and munch ever silently. When she stood up, or sat down, she wouldn't pull the chair except slowly, and ever gently. She wouldn't ask for more bread if it wasn't close to her. She wouldn't want her father to leave the table. He always did that when she spoke. She wouldn't want her Mother to say see what you did. So the girl just hid herself. She wouldn't even ask for water if she was chocking, so that her Father doesn't notice, and remember that she was there, and still in his house. She would wait an hour holding her toilet rather than knock on the bathroom door when the lights are on lest she would disturb her Father. She would stay hours at time in her bedroom when she heard Father angry about something, or anything. She knew her face would make him even angrier no matter what. A house feels smaller, and smaller when you try to hide from someone. After some days, her Mother started putting her on different table. In the Kitchen, the girl started to eat by herself; breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She felt rather better in those days. She didn't disturb anyone. But when she ate, and finished, she would pass through the Hallway, and by the Living Room where her Mother and Father ate. They would stop talking when she passes by, and both would have a disgusted on their ugly wrinkled faces. Each day and evening, they would stop talking when their daughter went by. She felt like a stranger renting a room upstairs, and the landowners hated her. They made her feel like a parasite. Sometimes she would stay in the kitchen long after she had finished her meal, anxiously, the girl would wait until she'd heard that her parents have moved on, and were longer in the Living Room. And only then did she went thru the hall and no one giving her that look.

Those were her days, and weeks in that House with her Mother and Father. She always remembered.

Lightning ensued, and thunder cracked in the darkest sky. Suddenly the River began to grow narrower, and narrower as it went, and much of its torrents growing swift, and much violent with her body. She was traveling at great speed now, a deadly one. If a rock showed suddenly in the river ahead, her skull would crack and then explode upon impact. If a log suddenly appeared, her organs would be torn out of her stomach, and paint the river red. A moment, the stream would push her head down, and another it would push her, she would gasp desperate for air, and then get pulled down again. She was helpless; she just prayed a rock or log be out of her way. That was all she could do.

In the spur of the moment, the River started to grow wider and wider as it traveled, oddly now its torrents began to strangely slow. If she could reach the bank of the river, she could perhaps hold on to something, and save herself while the stream was a rather slow, and less wild. Please, god. Please, she prayed as she struggled to swim ashore. But however, compose the torrent was at this instance, it was still swift, and strong and had much control over her slim figure. Please, god. P-please. She tried to turn, but the river shoved her onward and onward, refusing to let her turn and twist. But she wouldn't let go; she wouldn't give up. Her baby was still alive. He-he's alive. She would never give up. Please, god. H-help me, please. P-plea—suddenly, the running waters slowed and slowed and slowed until it became ever calm, peaceful and still. As the rain fell on her, she couldn't believe it. She couldn't grasp that she was still as if she was in a pool. Anxious and restless, she hurried over to the edge, and held to grass and dirt and pulled herself out of the river and into the gray mud. She laid down on her back, coughing muddy water, and starting to breath and breath as rain fell on her. But before she could rest she heard him again.

Waa. Waa. Waa.

"M-my baby. My baby," she said calmly this time, "My baby." She pushed herself up onto her feet. Only now she realized that her yellow dress was torn from the neck and down to her whist. She was half naked. Her white breasts were red and bruised as if someone had beaten her over and over. Her narrow neck was scratched and cut all over as if by some wild cat. Her stomach was bleeding, and that blood of hers mixed with the soil and the yellow shade of her dress almost seemed pink and velvet like. Although a women was in her early twenties, she now felt most old and tired an old woman in her sixties, but she couldn't stop now. N-never. My baby is out there. And so she started to run.

Waa. Waa. Waa.

"I'm coming Baby! I'm coming!"

Brick layered street silky with winter showers and car oils. The girl was twenty one years old then. A year and half ago, she was a only week form being nine months pregnant. She had sold some old paintings she had in her rooms the other day, and now she was on her way back from the Market with a basket full of the sweetest strawberries. She craved them for so long and afraid and ashamed of asking her Mother or Father she went out herself. Now, with a red strawberry between her lips she now saw him again. He was still tall, and handsome. He was smiling at someone behind the corner. Call her stupid, but she still loved his smile. But it suddenly disappeared off his face as he saw her covered in a green wool coat, and her stomach round, and bulging. He raised his hand, giving a shy Hi of pity. Before she could raise hers a woman come from behind the corner. She came and hugged him.

"Who is she?"

"No one," she heard him say as they walked on, "No one."