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Intermediate. Years 7/8/9

Poor Mother

By Caroline Carter, year 9, Grammar School

It started a day like any other; the birds singing, people laughing. The sunrise, a painting on the sky. Though, if only I’d known the ink would seep through and ruin the canvas that was my world. Looking back, i should’ve taken action sooner but i was young, naïve. Without a clue as to what was coming.

The year was 1940, a spring morning springing me out of bed. With all that was happening, I lived in a world of my own. Not affected by the torment surrounding me. My mother, however, took on a different mindset. She followed my every step, playing the role of my shadow, which i did not choose to cast.

Mother was going to the shop so, reluctantly, I joined her. She takes very little time getting what we need. But today she took much longer and I grew impatient. At the register she lifted up, ever so delicately, as if afraid a whisper of wind would throw it from her hands, her rations book. Meanwhile, my feet slapped the stone as I walked, informing her that I was more than ready to go. But mother slowed and faced me,
How dare she say something so sinister, revolting, I was speechless. Leading the ride home to silence.

I got out, closing my door, with slightly more force than usual.
‘Bring in a bag, Sadie.’
I was frozen, while my rage was boiling inside, overflowing. After everything I'd done this is how she's repaid me, making me her servant? The audacity. I stood straight, careful not to let my anger overcome me. Forming a response to her disrespect. But as I spoke, I erupted. Making a sally against my mother, spewing my retorts and thoughts over her.

Though, my poor mother got what she deserved.

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