Tear Drops and Ink: A Collection of Short General Fiction Stories

I Should Have Spoken

When Sarah’s six-year-old neighbour, Mary, allegedly drowned playing in the creeks, she didn’t dare say anything.

Nobody would believe her. There was no way she could have known, and the consequences of her speaking out would be too great. After all, who would listen to a weak-willed 14-year-old girl with the spooky eyes and a tendency to make others feel uneasy? And who would believe her if she claimed that Mary didn’t die from an accident?

A scream, panic ensued, and it ended in her death. But to everyone else, Mary had simply slipped whilst playing and it was all a terrible accident.

Sarah could hear the memories being relived. As the old man living across the road spoke to the media of how “sweet and lovely” little Mary was, the screams echoed in her head. She could still taste the adrenaline.

“…such a darling girl, her parents must be devastated…”

Shut the brat up! Come on, think! If she keeps screaming someone will hear her!

Relief flooded. The fists stopped flailing under the water. Triumph. Satisfaction. The bubbles stopped dancing up to the surface. The tangled mess of dark brown hair moved with the movement of water.

All the while, Barry smiled a sad smile and brushed a tear out of his eyes.

Sarah met his gaze briefly and shivered. Beneath the patchy brow and the brown spots on his weathered forehead, those clear eyes were just a mask. His sadistic love for young flesh was sickening.

The news people packed their gear away and readied to leave. There was a smug look on Barry’s face as he scratched his belly through his ill-fitting food-stained shirt. For a short moment, Sarah fought the urge to run up to those reporters and tell them what really happened. Her hands gripped the doorframe and she watched through narrowed eyes as they drove away.

Mary’s parents’ anguish didn’t leave her be. As soon as Barry’s thoughts drifted to his dinner, their heartbreak tore through Sarah’s chest like a tornado. She slammed the door shut and slid to the ground, grabbing her head as the memories rampaged in her mind with the ferocity of stormy seas against a cliff. Mary, the loved and wanted baby girl. Her mother, her belly swollen with child, her face glowing with joy. Mary’s first birthday: a fat little child toddling here and there, her cheeks pink, cake smeared across her face and sticking to her rosebud lips. Her first day of school. The pride in the parents’ hearts. The love was so overwhelming that it warmed Sarah with bliss, rising from deep within her chest and spreading to the tips of her hands and feet.

Then the loss hit her with the force of a truck. She curled into a ball, weeping, but it didn’t stop the pain and self-blame. They should have been there. How could they have been so careless? It’s all their fault. They deserved it. They let Mary down. There was so much potential, but it was all gone now. They should never have left her alone in the garden that day. If only they had cuddled her more, maybe she wouldn’t have wandered off. Maybe if they hadn’t spanked her for being naughty last night, she wouldn’t have stayed away. Maybe… maybe…

Mary would never grow up, never rebel, never have a boyfriend, get a job, get married, have kids, or grow old. All the happiness they had with her died when she drowned in the creek on that fateful day.

Except she didn’t die in in the creek, Sarah thought, squeezing her eyes shut. Sparks flew across the inside of her lids. The taste of salt lingered on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t tell which thoughts were the parents’ and which were her own. They spun round and round in her head until it made no sense; all she could make out was a state of devastation amidst the incoherence.