I grunted as I picked up my suitcase, now zipped and tagged with 'Elizabeth Morgan' written on it with a sticker and red sharpie. My stuff was all packed into one tiny suitcase- making me realise what little I actually had. My room was stripped bare and I knew why I had so little stuff; I had no room to put anything more than a couple of outfits in. My god this life sucks. With small suitcase in hand, I walked down the stairs.
"Wh-who is it!? I have a baseball bat!" My now awakened mother screeches from her bedroom one floor below me. Poo sticks.
"It's Lizzi!" I rushed down the stairs to calm her down. "Hush! Get back into bed, mother..." I shushed her hysterical sobs.
"Mother? I am most certainly NOT your mother!" She slapped me. Not again. This is something I have to go through every morning.
"I am your daughter. I'm Elizabeth Morgan, and you need a cup of tea." I turned and she leaped up from bed and grabbed my arm.
"My Lizzi Morgan is 7 years old. Not, how old are you? SEVENTEEN!" She screeched. She looked around for her baseball bat (which I confiscated a couple of days ago, due to the same conversation that didn't end up so well.) She couldn't find it but her eyes searched the king sized bed she was sleeping on just 5 minutes ago. "Where is my husband?" She asked, question and worry burrowed in her dampening eyes.
"Your husband, my father, died in the very same car crash that gave you anterograde amnesia. Let me go fetch the pictures..." I said on yet another day, exactly the same as any other. I went to her bedside cabinet and got the 'Mum's Folder On Remembering' which I had started, with help from doctors, a week after my parents accident. I simply gave it to her and sat on the bed beside her.
With each turn of the page, I saw a new expression wash over her pale face. First annoyance, thinking it was a lie, then confusion, then sadness, then happiness then grief.... it went on until she closed the folder and put it down beside her. She let me into her warm embrace, and we both wept on each others shoulders. I miss my father- but even if my mother forgot me every morning, at least she is alive.
"Mum, I have to go to a boarding school." I said, knowing that she will forget tomorrow, but needing her comfort.
"Why, sweetheart?" She said, now her cries are faint and now just sympathy for herself and her lost husband.
"Because people were picking on Lucas..." I said, turning my head to the floral bed set.
"Lucas? Of course... He's grown up too. Why do you have to move schools?" She asked, raising my head and forcing me to look at her icy blue eyes. She played with my hair as I begun my long explanation.
I miss my mother.
What is she going to do when I leave? Do I just let her move on and believe she is in the summer of 2001, 17th July, 4:27am?
YOU ARE READING
Hollow
Short StoryElizabeth Morgan used to have everything- a loving family and a sparkly new home. When aged six- 'Little Liz' went to greet her new neighbours, only to become best friends with a blind boy called Lucas. Liz has a lot more challenges before her; when...
