Woman In Smoke

Just a very short story I had written for another class. The assignment was to describe something you overcame, or a moment in your life when everything changed. (Icon Image is not mine)

Her hair frizzed like tight scribbles on paper, her teeth looked like small rotted eggs with splotches of black, the skin on her face was leathery and yellowed with age, and her breath carried the strong smell of nicotine. Her fingers were stained with years of rich dirt from every dirty plant she planted, and with every weed she sold to make money for her own bad habits. Habits which I could never support or know about, but her fierce, sad, hazel eyes that stared into my soul making every decision I had waver under her gaze. The words in my head struggled to be voiced through my dry lips, hands shake and quiver under every situation I think of, my amber eyes dart over my surroundings searching for something to make me feel safe, but all I could hear were the future harsh demands and smell the sour food in her kitchen.

I could hear a raspy, harsh cough escape through her throat and it brought me back to reality; where I was standing. I stood at the front door looking into her kitchen where unfinished plates stood stacked on one another atop the counter and table, laundry in the corner stood high with green clouds next to a washer not in use, ash trays spread randomly throughout the room used and never emptied, and her clothes were stained with overuse; loose sweats and a baggy sweater. I cleared my throat nervously, feeling the sweat roll down my forehead as she looked at me rather confused. My thoughts roamed around the room and my past where I never dared to let it go, but today was a different day.

Memories wandered throughout my head, and inside my thoughts I could hear her screaming at me through a nasty smoke filled room, calling my name, girl. Deep in my memories; my eyes glossed over and I rushed two small children into their rooms, quickly turning on the radio, and closing the door saying I’ll be back. Another scream sounded my name and I obeyed; knowing a second time is not a charm. When I opened the door to her room I placed my sleeve over my nose to avoid too much smoke from going into my lungs, and she sat lazed in a rocking chair alone. It’s always worse alone; I thought and proceeded to walk to her asking what she needed. Black lines from smudged mascara streamed down her face, but she looked me up and down, and I smiled thinking; I know what’s coming. Slowly she stood towering over me at the age of thirteen, and she coughed a loud raspy cough then asked me who I was. I replied in silence and she laughed asking if I thought I was beautiful; more silence. More questions sounded from her frail being, and nothing from mine. Finally she replied for me and told me that I replied correctly; the answer was nothing. She proceeded to tell me I was nothing in harsh, loud, raspy, words. No. They were tortured screams.

Another cough harshly brought me back to her kitchen where she stood looking at me confused, and I sighed. The children from before were grown and happy; it made me glad. One of them appeared from behind me smiling, and nudged me to move forward. I obeyed and slowly placed my things down next to me on the dirty wooden floor painted blue. The woman stared at me with a blank emotionless expression and walked out of the room leaving me alone in the dirty kitchen. With a sigh I looked outside where is was beautifully grown over with plants, and then looked in the living room where she sat in an old smoke stained chair, and her body was much frailer now than it used to be. Leaving my things behind I approached her calmly yet with confidence.

“Mother.” I spoke softly, getting her attention with a tilted head that was questioning for me to explain. “I’m going to live with my father for now on.” My eyes were blank of emotion, and her jaw dropped, eyes quickly filling with angry tears, and I turned back into the kitchen to grab my things while she quickly stood screaming my name; begging for me to return as I walked out into the beautiful outside. Everything smelled fresh, clean, and like freedom. Deep inside of me I could feel happy tears begging to escape, yet crying for the little ones I left behind, but I thought to myself they would understand. Our mother is a bit of a kinder person now then she once was, but never will I ever get those haunting memories to leave me alone.

Ever since I’ve never again approached that house, or that woman, and it was the last time I ever gave her the name she so desired. It was the last time I ever had to worry about who I was or what I was doing in my life, and ever since I was able to smile easier. For once in my life I was able to understand happiness without her shattering it over and over, and it was then I decided my life needed to be on paper.

Author's Note

How was the grammar, what problems did you have with it?