Halloween Collection: A Collection of Short Stories

See Through

By Dareen Yousry

I let out a stream of colorful curse words as I hastily reached for my belongings, attempting to shove them back into my bag. I shot it a dirty look as if it were somehow responsible for my being sprawled on the concrete floor.

Up ahead, my mother gave me a disapproving look over her shoulder, her eyebrows knitted together and her face etched into a scowl. She tapped the heel of her foot impatiently, the steady click echoing against my ears. She made a big show of checking her watch as I leaped to my feet, hoisting the messenger bag on my shoulder.

"Must you always be so clumsy, Dinah?" she asked, making a slight clicking noise under her breath.

"I'll try to control myself," I responded with saccharine sweetness.

My mother, Narissa, rolled her eyes as she looped her arm through mine, her nails digging into my sensitive skin. "I hope you'll leave that attitude behind today. We're meeting some important people."

I bit the inside of my cheek, a witty retort on the tip of my tongue before I realized it wasn't worth angering my mother. She was tense enough as it was, strung out and taut like one of those lifelike mechanical dolls, and today didn't feel like the day to get into it with her.

Going toe to toe just didn't seem as appealing, even if it would alleviate some of the boredom of being heaved into another one of her pointless luncheons. Lately, she'd been dragging me to an endless parade of them, each bleeding into an endless monotony, a montage on repeat.

With her perfectly coiffed blonde hair laying atop her shoulders and a cream-colored skirt with a matching blouse, she looked every inch the socialite she had been raised to be. The second she entered a room, all eyes were drawn to her, and she knew it, reveled in it; in fact, she soaked up the attention of her worshippers as if she were some kind of deity.

Next to her, I looked practically homely with my dark brown eyes, black hair, and ripped jeans. I had no interest in being my mother, or anything even remotely close, and I didn't make a secret of it. Much to her dismay.

"Why don't you just sit out here and read? From afar, they can hardly tell what you're wearing," Narissa decided, gesturing towards the field stretched out before them.

I rolled my eyes. "Would you like me to strike a pose while I'm at it? Maybe even take a picture?"

Narissa shot her a withering look and released her arm, running her fingers over her immaculate outfit. "I'll see you after. Cell phones don't have good reception here."

I gave her a fake smile and a big thumbs-up as I trudged off, stomping my feet for extra emphasis. I spun around and watched as my mother glided up the marble stairs of the club. People were tripping all over themselves in an effort to help her, possibly mistaking her for royalty or something. Once she was inside, I was able to keep track of her through the big bay windows, watching as she strode up to a group of men and confidently wedged herself between them.

In spite of everything, she really was a force to be reckoned with, even I could admit that, albeit begrudgingly. I plopped onto the field, crossing one leg over the other and taking out my book.

A few minutes later, a shadow crossed my field of vision, blocking out the sun. I glanced up sharply, intending to tell the person off, but there was no one there.

That's weird.

I shrugged and turned my attention back to the page, the allure of the written word calling to me. A strong gust of wind kicked up some sand nearby. I coughed, bringing my hand up over my mouth. I pushed myself to my feet and walked over to a swing set close by. I scanned the area around me quickly just to make sure no one was watching before I plopped onto a swing and dramatically swayed my legs back and forth.