The Country from Hell
In the "kitchen", which is really just an extension of the apartment's main room, sits your mother. She is clutching a bottle of custia against her ugly blue cleaning uniform. Her chin is wet with liquor and tears.
"You're home," she says vacantly.
She's not usually this bad till at least nine o'clock in the evening.
"What happened, mom?"
"Oh nothing. I hated that job anyway."
"So you got fired."
"I was fired?"
She moves her head stupidly from side to side like a clock pendulum. This reminds you of the time. It is already getting late in the afternoon and as you struggle not to think about your mother, you are reminded of the party tonight. The party in the woods it sounds preposterous now after everything that has transpired since you went prancing out of the computer store. Looking down into your empty bag, you see that Szil's card is the only thing left inside, a little reminder of an ephemeral happiness that might have been yours. Not wanting to look at your mother, you turn decisively towards the bedroom door, towards the telephone
"Wait!" calls your mother, her voice louder and more needful than you expected. You half pivot around on one foot, but find yourself staring at the wall, unsure of what to do.
What to do
"You're home," she says vacantly.
She's not usually this bad till at least nine o'clock in the evening.
"What happened, mom?"
"Oh nothing. I hated that job anyway."
"So you got fired."
"I was fired?"
She moves her head stupidly from side to side like a clock pendulum. This reminds you of the time. It is already getting late in the afternoon and as you struggle not to think about your mother, you are reminded of the party tonight. The party in the woods it sounds preposterous now after everything that has transpired since you went prancing out of the computer store. Looking down into your empty bag, you see that Szil's card is the only thing left inside, a little reminder of an ephemeral happiness that might have been yours. Not wanting to look at your mother, you turn decisively towards the bedroom door, towards the telephone
"Wait!" calls your mother, her voice louder and more needful than you expected. You half pivot around on one foot, but find yourself staring at the wall, unsure of what to do.
What to do