My Mother's Mind

Before, Cassandra

I don't really like my mother. When I was ten, she tripped over her own silly feet and fell down the stairs. Three times her body hit the stairs with a thud. One time her head hit the floor with a crack and at that same moment the grandfather clock struck two. I ran to see what the noise was because she did not scream. She did not yell. There I saw my mother's still body, already taking on the form of a corpse.

"Mommy?" I had said with a quiver in my voice, though I had not called her that since about the age of three. There was no response. Her dark black hair had reminded me of spilled ink with a tint of red threatening to take over. I had started to cry. There was nothing else I could think to do. No one to ask for help. I don't remember how long I sat there and cried, but eventually the tears turned painful, and sleep took over my body.

When I woke up, my mother wasn't at the bottom of the stairs anymore. She was in the kitchen, making two cups of tea. My mother embraced me and held me tight. She must've taken a shower. Her silky brown hair was cleaner than before. Black hair. No, her hair was brown. She smiled sadly at me and said, "Darling, I have some difficult news to tell you." Though I didn't know it at the time, she had been pregnant, and the baby died that day. I'm pretty sure my mother died that day as well.