Life, in Short

Gone

Mara woke, not fully convinced that she wanted to get out of bed. It seemed she was always tired lately. Still, her children would be up soon, needing breakfast and supervision. She dragged herself out to the kitchen to fix a pot of oatmeal. She set steaming bowls on the table and called down to the children. Annie wandered up a few minutes later, looking a bit disheveled. She shuffled about with her typical morning languor and sat down to eat her bowl of oatmeal.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Mara said

Annie pushed the oatmeal about in her bowl, her head down, and lips shut in a tight frown. Liam bounced up the stairs shortly after, grabbing a bowl of cereal, ignoring the oatmeal, and chatting cheerily to his sister.

“Hey!” Mara laughed and grabbed at the bowl. “I made oatmeal for breakfast, you little turkey!”

The bowl slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor, scattering cereal across the kitchen. Liam groaned, stooping to gather up the flakes and empty plastic bowl.

“Way to go butterfingers.” Annie laughed with a derisive sneer.

“Shut up!” Liam snapped back as he flung a handful of cereal in her direction.

“Annie! Liam!” Mara scolded, trying to raise her voice above the bickering, “That is enough from both of you!”

“It’s not my fault you’re a clumsy idiot.” Annie taunted.

Liam lunged at her with a roar and knocked the oatmeal to the ground. He tackled Annie off of the chair, and they grappled on the floor, screeching and thrashing. Mara shouted in an attempt to regain control. Finally, their father burst into the hall, roaring over the din of vitriol.

“Enough! I don’t want to hear another sound out of either of you.”

He glared at them for a moment and stalked back into the bedroom to finish his preparations for work. Mara followed him in. She dragged her fingers through her hair and back down to her cheek with a sigh.

“Thanks honey,” She gave a weary smile, pausing just inside the doorway. “I don’t know why, but they have always listened better to you.” She let out a bitter laugh, “Sometimes it’s like I’m not even here.”

Her husband looked into the mirror, struggling with his necktie and said nothing. Mara drifted over to his side and adjusted the knot. Her eyes drifted up to his face, and she frowned. Had he always looked this way? She shook off the strange thought and fixed the smile back onto her lips.

“Did you sleep well?”

She waited, but his attention was focused on his preparations, and he said nothing.

“Dennis, did you hear me?”

Again, she was met with silence. Her husband did not so much as glance her way. Her fingers curled into fists, a scowl taking over her face. The light in the bedroom pulsed brighter, and she jerked back. Looking up at the light, she noticed the grey walls. Hadn’t their walls been a light blue? She couldn’t recall painting them. A shiver swept through her, and she turned, heading back into the dining room.

The house was different than she remembered, as though she had somehow wound up in a strangers home by mistake. She looked closer at the children sitting at the table. She froze. These were not her children. Not her Annie with a smile in her eyes and a spatter of freckles. Not her Liam with his boundless energy and messy locks of sandy brown.

Mara drew back, her head spun, filling with awful memories. The memory of a masked intruder standing in the doorway, a wicked blade glinting in his hand. His movements had been jerky and odd. His cold, blue eyes unfocused as they darted over the house and stopped on her. Her skin had gone clammy, and she had fled-but she fell. His hot rancid breath had seeped onto her face, and she’d screamed.

A searing pain had erupted in her chest, and a warm gush of blood spilled onto the carpet. Her heartbeat had slowed, and the world blurred, fading to black. Everything since then was a blank, a horrible empty void. How long had it been since she… She couldn’t finish the thought. She looked down at her hands and noticed a slight translucence.

The house itself had changed only a little. The walls had been painted in a minimalist monochromatic way, the carpet had been replaced with hardwood flooring, little things like that. It was the strangers that now replaced her beloved family, which pierced through her like a hot poker.

She cried out, the lights flickered in time with her wail, and the children looked up. The boy shifted in his chair, running his fingers anxiously through his hair. His sister turned to him with a look of feigned concern that couldn’t quite cover her smirk.

“Can you hear that? I’ll bet it’s the ghost of that woman who was murdered here five years ago. Come back for revenge!”

“Shut up!” The boy cried again, shoving his impish sister.

Five years? Mara turned to the window, still keening. She stared out at the world she was no longer a part of from a home that had once been hers. The people passing by were as much strangers to her as the ones inside. The image of her family filled her mind, and the ache in her soul became a palpable force that dragged her forward through the window. Even without a body, the coldness of the glass seeped through her.

She flew through the city, propelled, as if by an enormous unseen hand. Carried through streets and buildings to an unfamiliar place, the day faded into evening. Darkness fell as she stopped in front of a window she did not recognize. A light radiated from it that lessened the chill  in her soul. She looked inside and gasped.

There was her sweet husband embedded in the center of their couch, his arms around their two beautiful children. A large bowl of popcorn was nestled between them, the glow of a television illuminating their faces. They looked happy, snuggled in together, smiles on every face as they reacted to the screen before them. Mara clutched the windowsill, the ache of loss and longing dulled by sight of her family’s contentment.

Stars peeked through the velvet sky overhead, and Mara smiled. She hovered there in the darkness, watching over them. It still hurt to be kept separate from the ones she loved, but their joy tempered her pain. She looked from her family down to her own hazy hands that clung to the windowsill, and let go.