A Million Miles from Home - Original Writing

A Million Miles from Home - Original Writing

The dismal black forest hid the house in its shadows. The house

appeared empty; its impression of wealth and elegance had faded. The

iron gates were drenched in dead roses, making the house unattractive.

The path had been swallowed by the trees until there was no path at

all. Everything seemed bleak, and death mourned upon the house.

She cried for months, not knowing how to occupy her self. As it grew

inside her, she felt she has less reason to stay in this realm. She

knew the mutation which was occurring inside her womb, but her mind

failed to accept it. She could not appreciate that everything had

malformed; her husband left her and the unborn child she had carried

was due to be present to the world.

A Tuesday morning of 1959, she awoke with discontent. She stood,

holding the posts of her bed, finding the weight of her body too much

for her legs. Her legs trembled and her hands grasped tighter. The

pain became unbearable, as she started to scream. She fell to the

floor, pulling the drapes off the bed, smashing glass into a million

and one pieces.

She crawled to the bathroom, gasping for air. The pain became subtle.

She knew that the last nine months of her body’s transformation

depended on this moment. Now she had to accept, she was in labour.

She walked to the kitchen for towels and hot water. The wooden floor

on her feet was unusually cold. There was a peculiar smell as she

entered the corridor, which seemed abnormally dark.

She got to the kitchen, the door was ajar. She pushed through

effortlessly and, curiously, there was a chair backed up against the

door. There w...

... middle of paper ...

... The picture was happy, so

very happy.

“This is your bloody mother, she ruined your father, and she deserved

to be in the situation she is now. You are so like her!” Geraldine

could not keep her mouth shut.

She grasped the racket tightly in her hand. Geraldine stood up behind

Indie. She lifted her arm back and swung through the air. Indie fell

to the floor.

. . . . .

Indie stood up, she tuned to face Geraldine but she had already left.

She turned to help her mother. Indie picked the woman off the floor,

but she stood up. The woman faced Indie, and held her child in her

awaiting arms. Indie had never felt so belonged in her whole life. The

baby began to cry, Indie placed the baby in her arms and uncovered the

sheets. The blood had cleared from the wall, and everything was

perfect, absolutely perfect.