The pale spectra of a woman clad in dark red velvet with dark hair slightly disarrayed was curled infront of the old manor house as it began to be comsumed by flames. The rudy light of flames not yet visible seemed to enrich her full skirt, she trembled and shock with sobs she did not dear let out, incase they were heard.

She had set the fire, she had condemned them all to hell. No redemption now and she could not show them her regrets. They would burn, she lay paralysed with a malaise – she wished to joined them, part of her always would, how could she not, she was after all their mother.

They did not yet know fire, they did not know to run. She could have killed them one by one but she had not the stomach for that, could not look into their eyes and see the knowing, them then knowing her betrayal. No – this had been the only way.

Echoes of their voices called to her, in confusion and none understanding MOTHER, muther, mooooother. Over and over. She had made them, she had hoped…. but they were not right, she had known that, and yet she had still cared for them, their little eyes seeking her out, hungry and in need.

They were the only things that had ever loved her… Velvetina the doll bride. Beautiful and cold as the porcelain of her face, her dresses made to some archaic aesthetic that held velvet fluff warm and plush to be the companion of the hard cold smoothness. She was a construct as much as her children. Maybe that was where she had gone wrong?

The Lord… he had wanted children and so she had made him children, they had dined on him and he deserved that for what he had done to them and to her but the maid girl? That had been… wrong.. yes that was the word and so now she destroyed all that she loved.

Did fire melt porcelain? Or would it just crack her glaze? She had been baked multiple times in extremes of heat, her surface a glaze of fused glass. She was supposed to be unbreakable. Maybe the tower stones would crash down and brake her. She wanted nothing less.

“MOOOTHER!” came the cries once more – they knew now – they knew something was wrong and the horror and anguish of it all ripped as a sob from her.

A window smashed and a tentacle, thick and undulous arose, “there you are!” came the voices and it wrapped itself around her waist, she did not fight it as it pulled her back into the Manor. Why had she thought to leave, she belonged here she was a monster the same as them, she was there mother – she should sing them to sleep.

Flames roared.

Posted: Saturday, October 13th, 2018 @ 8:27 am
Categories: Flash Fiction, The Punks World.
Subscribe to the comments feed if you like. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

Leave a Reply