Wire - Marooned

The day refused to end.

You could tell it to go away and it wouldn't matter, everything seems to happens in a sluggish pace. Mrs. Fillyjonk has seen better days, some of them faster than others, and slower days too. The speed which it takes for an entire day to come to an end never bothered her as much as it does today. Imagine if you ever said something you didn't meant to, something buried under your skin that no one ever saw, something you thought you would never say and do and that little something grows in size without you even noticing until it becomes someone you want to hide from everyone else because its appearance and the words it says are equally awful.

— It was not me talking. Not me, my words betrayed me a while ago. – Said Mrs. Fillyjonk as she brushed away the dust upon a wooden table that once belonged to her great grandfather and it had quite a story.

One day, he went to fish by the sea only to find someone else's furniture floating above the surface, as well as a woman who stood upon it. He thought it was a mermaid, but mermaids are well known for their distinct approach of singing until one man falls for their spell and drowns in the dark waters to be never seen again. That woman he took care of later became his wife. Life is weird sometimes.

Back to cleaning and sweeping all of the dust away... That was one of Mrs. Fillyjonk's favorite pastimes whenever she was upset. An endless task that only made her feel even more upset, but worse of all, smaller than her own self. The world is so full of dust, it comes in through the window, it stretches for miles beyond what our eyes can see, it never ends and we think we can get rid of it for good. That's the worst part of cleaning, the feeling of accomplishment that isn't really that big of an accomplishment, and oh dear, Mrs. Fillyjonk knew it so well. She'll be back to cleaning and sweeping by tomorrow, and the next tomorrow, and the next day, the next week, the next month... All of this happened before and it will all happen again.

— It was anything but me who spoke to my children like that! – She said but louder, in hopes of hearing herself amidst the dust that permeated almost every aspect of her life. The portraits of flowers and relatives do not listen, they are what they are

Flowers are better than relatives sometimes, thought Mrs. Fillyjonk as her musings now revolved around a cactus, for whatever reason. A cactus remains a cactus for their entire life, they never change into a sunflower or a rose or a dandelion or anything pretty whenever they feel like it. A cactus does not need to hide their spikes because it wants to feel someone's touch. A cactus can live for too long without depending on others. A cactus was an honest plant who knew its place and did not dream of setting off on a voyage across the seven seas, all it needed was water and that was more than enough.

— If only Mr. Fillyjonk ever listened... – Mrs. Fillyjonk whispered, trying not to let anyone else know about her weaknesses. A futile attempt, nonetheless. Her house seemed so empty and only her footsteps could be heard echoing through the rooms.

Had I been so lonely before my husband decided to leave on a journey? She thought about it very often, it was nothing new, nothing exciting. The kinds of thoughts that did not bother her as much as they did years ago, when she received a horrible letter. All deaths are horrible, to be honest, but even more so when it's someone you knew rather than a stranger whose only fact you know about them is their death and the family members love to talk about it like it's no big deal.

"Have you heard of Aunt Anna? Well, unfortunately, she passed away. She's gone, died of a heart attack, simply as that"... But it wasn't as simple as that awful letter made it be. Not to Mrs. Fillyjonk, who hasn't seen or heard about this Aunt Anna for who knows how many years.

— I won't be seeing her anymore. – She said, the letter and its words burnt in her mind. – Those poor children... To have lost their mother in such a horrific way. No one deserves that.

At least, Mrs. Fillyjonk knows her aunt is dead forever, unlike her husband, who she believes is alive somewhere and leading a life of his own, while she wonders if he will come home or stay wherever he is. There are fates worse than death, and that was one of them.

— Why don't you apologize? It's so easy. – Said Mrs. Fillyjonk, changing subjects to something less morbid, but equally hurtful. – Well, if it were easy, I would have done it an hour ago. Easy... As if! If it really was easy, I wouldn't have the need to yell at them!

Immediately, she puts her hand over her mouth in hopes that her previous outburst has not woken up the children upstairs.

— Oh my... I'm so sorry. – Whispered Mrs. Fillyjonk in a faint voice. – My dear children need to rest while Moominmamma is out there looking for a doctor. Meanwhile, I'll be waiting... And cleaning. I'm cleaning the house so that my children can live without worries. I won't hear them coughing, their eyes won't be red with dust, breakfast will be served in the kitchen, they'll go to school and learn new things and... And... And...

Was that enough of an apology? She thought she had the answer, that it was obvious they would accept it and be proud of her hard work. Well, would they? After their mother just said those things? The things Mrs. Fillyjonk refuses to think about anymore because she can't believe those were her words.

— Nobody's perfect, and I'm far from perfect. – She said, sitting down in a chair as she watched the world outside through a window. – I have lost control a few times, but today is when I have lost it for real. I never thought I'd say such things to my children... Never thought I'd raise my voice in front of them, I felt like hitting them too... My children... Will they ever forgive me? I'll understand if they don't.