Chase Away the Ghosts
Sometimes she was numb to everything. Sometimes she'd sit at her ebony table, the expensive one, and comb her long pale hair before the mirror. Like a princess, only heartless and dull. And she hated it. And she knew that life would always be this way.
Sometimes she'd play with her makeup. And she felt more princesslike than ever, dusting her white face with costly blushes and shadows. Only she'd be covering the most recent scars. No one could see them. And no one knew.
And her son would come home, sometimes, and smile when he saw her, the same grin he had constantly worn when he was a child, and give her a hug and tell her, "Mum, you're beautiful." Sometimes he smirked, and sometimes he didn't say anything, just stomped up to his room and slammed the door with a bang that shook the manor. But sometimes, he said it, and perhaps that was what she went on living for.
Sometimes her husband wouldn't come home, for a few days, and those nights she would stay up until the sun came over the horizon, and she would sit at the window, drawn and pale. Praying that he would never come home. Praying that she wouldn't have to cover any more scars. Praying that it would all be over.
Sometimes her son woke up, those nights, and climbed the twisting staircase to the tower room where he knew she sat, and demanded that she go to bed. That, if she needed him to, he would stay up in her stead. And she would go obediently to the huge canopy bed, like a docile child, and she would tell him, weakly, not to stay up. Not to worry. Sometimes she thought he was a child, and she would tell him "Mummy'll chase away the ghosts. Go back to bed." She didn't know that he knew she was the one who needed someone to chase the ghosts away. And sometimes, when he left, she would rise again and sit at the window until dawn broke.
One day she sat at the window, playing with her makeup as she always did, and she watched the sun set, scarlet and gold melting together in the sky. And she knew it would always be like this. And she almost wept, but she told herself that it would smudge her makeup. Blur her false reality. And she held the pretense. For she would always have to chase the ghosts away herself.
Sometimes she was numb to everything. Sometimes she'd sit at her ebony table, the expensive one, and comb her long pale hair before the mirror. Like a princess, only heartless and dull. And she hated it. And she knew that life would always be this way.
Sometimes she'd play with her makeup. And she felt more princesslike than ever, dusting her white face with costly blushes and shadows. Only she'd be covering the most recent scars. No one could see them. And no one knew.
And her son would come home, sometimes, and smile when he saw her, the same grin he had constantly worn when he was a child, and give her a hug and tell her, "Mum, you're beautiful." Sometimes he smirked, and sometimes he didn't say anything, just stomped up to his room and slammed the door with a bang that shook the manor. But sometimes, he said it, and perhaps that was what she went on living for.
Sometimes her husband wouldn't come home, for a few days, and those nights she would stay up until the sun came over the horizon, and she would sit at the window, drawn and pale. Praying that he would never come home. Praying that she wouldn't have to cover any more scars. Praying that it would all be over.
Sometimes her son woke up, those nights, and climbed the twisting staircase to the tower room where he knew she sat, and demanded that she go to bed. That, if she needed him to, he would stay up in her stead. And she would go obediently to the huge canopy bed, like a docile child, and she would tell him, weakly, not to stay up. Not to worry. Sometimes she thought he was a child, and she would tell him "Mummy'll chase away the ghosts. Go back to bed." She didn't know that he knew she was the one who needed someone to chase the ghosts away. And sometimes, when he left, she would rise again and sit at the window until dawn broke.
One day she sat at the window, playing with her makeup as she always did, and she watched the sun set, scarlet and gold melting together in the sky. And she knew it would always be like this. And she almost wept, but she told herself that it would smudge her makeup. Blur her false reality. And she held the pretense. For she would always have to chase the ghosts away herself.