The Waifs 🥀

＊ P r o l o g u e

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🥀

          Little Maia had always had an imaginative mind. For that trait only could she believe her teddy bear, Mr. Pickles, replies her when she asks him a question. She walked with a wobbly, yet confident gait down her parents driveway, shortly after the school bus dropped her off.

"See, Mr. Pickles! We're home!" she giggled excitedly, her black, short pigtails flapping in the wind. It was previously wound into two tiny buns.

"Really?" She imagined Mr. Pickles ask.

"Yes, silly! We're right at the door," Maia grinned at her fluffy friend, showing him the two windows in the top rows of her teeth. Her bright face hardly ever dimmed, but it did now as she noticed the strange gap in the door frame. Waving at the bus driver, indicating her safe entry, the tires screeched as he skidded away almost impatiently.

Mr. Pickles gave her a questioning stare which she retorted with a mocking questioning stare of her own, her forehead creasing ever so slightly. "I don't know Maia, but is the door usually left open like this?"

Shrugging, Maia pushed the heavy door open (at least, heavy to her) and peeked in in an almost unsure way. Usually, she would hear clanging noises, and water gushes. Along with these sounds, she would smell foody aromas from the kitchen, indicative of her mum's presence. And just then, her dad would come in from the garage and swoop his baby girl into his arms.

But, not today. This time, there was an empty, void silence engulfing her house, there were obviously no sounds in the kitchen. Maia's father was nowhere in sight. And only the fuzzy bear could notice something was up.

"Maia, something is not quite right, let's go back to school." In her colourful mind, Mr pickles had a singsong, fruity voice. Hearing his voice often made her smile.

"You're such a scaredy cat, Mr Pickles," she giggled.

Maia wasn't worried, for all she knew her mum could be uncharacteristically, very silently making her favourite lunch-spaghetti and meatballs. The little raven-haired cuteness skipped, carefree, towards the kitchen, hopeful to see her mum. Her alight expression dropped entirely as her face contorted with a frown.

"See, I told you something was fishy," said the pessimistic white bear.

She scampered up two flights of narrow stairs, Mr. Pickles dangling by his furry leg behind her. Checking the study, her parents' bedroom and still no luck, she was getting more flustered and anxious with each room.

Finally, Maia and Mr. Pickles stumbled into the tiny bathroom, pausing for a stunned moment near the door. She drew in a sigh of relief upon sighting her mother's frame, mindlessly dropping her best mate, who landed with a soft thud against the floor tiles.

"Oof," he let out.

Maia thought nothing of her mum's motionless body reclined against the wall, as she ran excitedly towards her. "Mummy?! You're the one that told me the floor's dirty and you're sleeping on it? Ewwie!" she babbled, only needing to crouch down slightly, giving her mum a little shove at the shoulders. But she didn't budge, didn't open her eyes.

Shaking her more vigorously, Maia's lips quivered a little as she exclaimed, "Wake up, mummy! You're scaring me!" No, she didn't move. And she positively was not breathing.

Little unshed tear drops gathered in her big azure eyes. In what honestly could be summed up as a sick coincidence, her kindergarten teacher had taught her today that if you couldn't feel a person's heart go thump thump, thump thump, then that person was not okay.

So, laying a hesitant hand on her awfully pale mother's bosom, she checked. Over and over. But alas, silence. Still silence. Suddenly and harshly, the light in Maia's little happy, carefree world went out entirely. She let out a wail, high-pitched and shrilly, a sound that was not ever intended to come out of playful Maia's mouth.

Her mum was not okay. Nothing was okay.

Mr. Pickles was sprawled out in a rather uncomfortable-looking position on the bathroom floor when, with his impeccable timing, she heard him say, "Uh, Maia, I think I've bent my leg out of shape." Her doleful eyes snapped in her best stuffed bud's direction, leaking with streams of tears down her rosy cheeks, as she left her mum's side to get him.

Hurrying back to the slumped figure, she looked at her mum, eyes wide, worried and scared. Then she noticed as well that she wasn't snoring softly as she usually did, that her mum's chest wasn't going up down, up down per usual. She was all too still. Lifeless.

"Is she... dead, Maia?"

Her lips quivered in spite of her misguided, self-convincing conviction, "D-don't ask me that, Mr. Pickles! Mummy's fine, just f-fine." Her voice lowered to a breathy whisper. Mind-boggled Maia reached out to find her mum's hand, but to her surprise, there was bottle loosely in her grasp. A glass bottle, labelled with a word she couldn't quite pronounce.

Taking it into hers, she scrutinized the dark, sinister bottle with a scowl. She put it to her nose and gagged, affirming her suspicions. Whatever was in this bottle was what did this to mummy. Standing up to her full pixie-sized height, she flung the treacherous bottle across the room, where it landed against the wall with a loud, shattering, crash.

She jerked involuntarily at the shocking noise.

She cozied up to her mum, short arms attempting to squeeze her mum back to life. If that could be possible. Her fluffy white teddy bear lay squashed between them, this time not being insensitive enough to complain.

And, it was on to this heartbreaking cluster of bodies, only one truly animate, that the police and paramedics burst in, alarming both the bear and the little girl who screamed, hugging her dear mother closer to herself, eyes shut yet still leaking freely.

Amidst the bustle, a lady in uniform pried a hysterical Maia off the breathless body, cooing in her ears. Mr. Pickles was only clinging on for dear life until he carelessly landed on the floor with an "Oof, Not again. Maia! Down here!"
But, she didn't hear, she wasn't listening. Or was it just that her colourful imagination was suddenly in black monochrome? There was a dull ringing in her ears, a truly deafening silence, despite all the noise.

It was the most heartwrenching sight, a little girl screeching and wailing for her mother's warmth, desperate arms stretched in that direction. She hoped with all her heart, against all odds, that her mother's eyes would pop open and all the randos in her house would disappear. The attempted supposedly 'soothing' pats she got on her back helped nothing. And to her absolute horror she watched as they zipped her superwoman up into a black body-bag, mouth in a sad, small 'o' and eyebrows drawn low. All her thrashing was in vain. All of Mr. Pickles shouting fell on deaf ears.

This was her last image of her mum that would be etched in her memory forever.

This realization hit a five year old, vastly afflicted mind: Mummy was gone. I don't have a mummy anymore.

She was quiet, sniffing, but quiet as they descended the stairs. "Ssh, sshh, everything gonna be okay, sweetie." the faceless lady in uniform cooed once more.

Little, crestfallen Maia wanted to scream for her teddy bear but she didn't, couldn't. She could not speak all of a sudden. But, not to worry she'll get Mr. Pickles back, fate wasn't that horrible.

She blinked rapidly as she remembered. Her father though.

So, mustering all the strength she had left in her pint-sized self, she screamed at the top of her throat, possibly deafening her escorts ears;

"Daddy!"

Where was he?

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