Matilda was a modest grandma of the humble age of 64. She had gotten married as soon as she hit 18, and had two loud, happy children at 20. Her husband worked all day, and she had lived as a stereotypical Australian housewife.
Ever since her children moved out and christened their family with a second generation, and even before, her relationship with her husband was not the best. He died before he had the time to finalise the divorce papers, choking on a sandwich, all alone in his carpentry workshop. Matilda was 42, and he was 63. Her third grandson was still swimming in his amniotic sack at the time.
In the small period of time she spent sharing a house with her son after her husband's passing, she learnt that his wife was a joker. Yelonda, her name was, always laughed and gave her useless, brightly coloured trinkets as 'gag gifts'. Her light heartedness and youth was refreshing, and with this newfound favouritism of her, Matilda decided to spoil their spawn.
When Christmas came 'round she requested for Yelonda to hand her their letters to Santa, and bought both of the items listed as 'most wanted no. 1!' on their list.
Teresa wanted the Razor Scooter she had saw her cousin showing off at Easter, and Brodie wanted a Nintendo DS, with a Pokémon game cartridge. Matilda was unsure which one he wanted, and when she brought it up with Yelonda, Yelonda lit up like a torch.
"This is great!" She grinned, "You can take him to the game store after Christmas! He'd love to spend time with his fun, inquisitive grandmother!"
When Matilda presented the children with their presents, she gave them a big, wrinkly smile and told them Santa had gotten them their favourites. She and Brodie did end up going to the game store, and she watched him play his new Pokémon game all the way to the waterpark.
Since then, Matilda had moved to the smaller island of Tasmania and settled in a humble apartment for 18 years. She painted every wall a soft rhubarb colour, and used her husband's leftover fortune to pay bills and fund her growing fixation on plants and cats.
The kids that asked to pat her cats called her 'cool' amongst themselves. She only knew this through her Brodie, who contacted her through a phone she had since lost, linking a short video called a TikTok, and teasing her on her newfound fanbase. She grasped her phone too tightly in her hand whilst trying to reply, and accidentally shut it off.
Brodie, with great reluctance, stopped trying.
Matilda's landline was cut off when one of her cats had a bad day and were too frisky with the cord. Her landlord came over after she sent him a distressed letter, and he scheduled some repair people to fix it.
Unfortunately, he left on holiday before he could finalise, leaving her their number, and wasn't that a foolish thing to do? She simply could not find her phone or get it to open, and, as her hearing deteriorated, could not hear it ring after it was turned on. She resigned herself to her oblivious, drifting existence.
Her daughter had called multiple times, sent myriads of voicemails, but received no reply. She scheduled a flight to go see Matilda in person, but the flight was cancelled indefinitely due to a surprise sinkhole in Matilda's quaint local airport, and a sudden influx in customer activity at work kept her busy. She never contacted her mother again.
Still, Matilda talked to the children that frequented the small newsagents below her apartment. She was content inviting them for tea, letting them pat her cats, and empathising when they complained of their teenage troubles.
The ones that spoke softly she had to get physically closer to, and ended up with a very passionate elbow to the ear as a very apologetic girl screamed her frustrations.
Matilda was not upset, was not cross. She presented the girl with kind words of support, but when the door shut closed behind her, the silence of the room was ringing. The side of her face purpled quickly and easily.
Her hearing became even worse.
It got so bad she could not hear her cats crowing for food, and only remembered to feed them out of pure habit.
It got so bad the rest of the world faded around her, and it only existed when she stepped out onto the balcony and spied it with her small, squinted eyes.
It got so bad the mailman could not reach her through the intercom. The children that had come 'round ended up leaving when there was no reply. They received no answer when they greeted her on the street.
Matilda spent the next month drifting, unable to motivate herself to connect with anyone. She shooed her cats out of her house, but left bowls of leftover cat food out for them when they returned. She barricaded herself in her apartment for a slow hobble towards her end. She was too old.
By the time something happened, it was a cheerful sunny day, and her hearing was completely gone. A notice regarding her healthcare insurance had been slipped under her door, and, as she eyed the packet lazily, wondered dimly whether she should get diagnosed with deafness.
Wouldn't serve a purpose, she supposed, it's already my time. She settled back in her plum-coloured recliner and tilted her head upwards into the sunlight. She heaved a sigh, and held it. She wondered whether it would be like the movies, for it was her time to go.
Her cat-clock ticked.
But, it wasn't her time.
Her time was somewhere else.
Matilda was 64, was given a weak hand in life, and —even now— as an old, retired woman— she was left unsatisfied with it.
Her cat-clock tocked.
Matilda cracked an eye open, spied her cluttered, dusty room, and shut it again in distaste.
"Let's try again." she rasped, and inhaled strongly through her nose.
Her cat-clock ticked...
Her nose wrinkled. A small speck of cat fur tickled the inside of her nostril.
Her cat-clock tocked...
Matilda gave a great sneeze, and blinked her eyes open in surprise. Then, she gasped, stood up in a rush, and hurried over to the bathroom with her backside clutched in her thin, bony hand.
Outside her red-curtained window, a small bird perched curiously upon her balcony rail. It gave its wet feathers a swift shake, and its trill was lost through the great, pouring rain.
"Tranquillll?" It chirped.