HumpDay Quickie #82

Posted: October 21, 2015 in Hump-Day Quickies
Tags: , , , ,

Gone
by Marie McKay

The doctor spoke in whispers to my mum: ‘grief’; ‘shock’; ‘time.’

For the next few months, the level of positivity in the house rose to excruciating levels. Suddenly, the screeching noises from my violin made me some sort of musical prodigy; apparently, there was now plenty of time for me to master trigonometry, and we didn’t actually know what Mr. Edward’s knew about Shakespeare, anyway. It seemed like I couldn’t put a foot wrong despite making a point of stomping all over everyone’s naked toes.

Mum tried to be surreptitious about it, but I’d catch her inspecting me in the light  the way you might check a note for a watermark.

Another trip to the doctor’s: ‘no change’; ‘indefinite’; ‘may never come back.’

I watched shades of disappointment line mum’s face each time she looked at my lips; my hair; my eyes, in the hope that some fleck of colour might creep over them. But I knew in my monochrome heart the colour had gone; the black and white of me was all there was left.

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