Page 48 of Yours on the Canvas

A cry.

A scream,

Then a sound that doesn’t make sense at first, followed by a heavy thud, of something hitting the stairs.

Thud.

Then another.

Crack.

Then another.

Then there’s silence.

My mothers screams echo inside my head, bouncing around my skull, carving themselves into me forever.

Then silence. It’s the kind that makes my stomach twist, forcing vomit from my mouth onto the floor beside me.

“Mumma…” My voice small and broken.

I lay there sobbing, wanting to run to her, to protect her, I close my eyes, staying hidden like she told me to.

I don’t know how long I slept, but when I wake the house is deadly silent. Even the walls feel like they’re holding their breath.

I listen for what feels like forever, but nothing moves.

I crawl out from under the bed, brushing dust from my clothes. Tiptoeing to the door I open it just enough to listen. Still nothing.

I step into the hallway and reach the top of the stairs. My small, bare toes curl over the edge of the cold step. My heart slams against my ribs, my fingernails digging into my palms until I feel warmth under them. My blood dripping heavy onto the floor.

At the bottom of the stairs, my mother lies still.

Her head rests at an angle that makes my stomach twist. Her eyes are open, looking up at me like she’s about to smile and say something gentle. I watch her closely, but she doesn’t move. I wait holding my breath to see if she will take one herself, but her chest doesn’t rise.

My feet carry me down the stairs one step at a time, each breath pushing me closer to her. Her face is pale, her lips tinged with blue, her dress rumpled around her legs.

I stop on the second to last step.

“Mumma.” My voice barely a whisper.

I look around, expecting my father or Ray to appear and drag me away, but no one comes.

I step onto the bottom stair.

“Mumma?” My hear hammers so hard it hurts.

A tiny sound escapes me, a broken breath, because in that moment I know. I know she’s dead.

My fingers roll her ring on my thumb as I stand over her. My ten-year-old body doesn’t understand everything, but my mind does.

Ray threw her down the stairs, while my father watched. And my mumma died protecting me.

I sit down beside her, my legs touching her arm, and I lift my hand to her face. I flinch, pulling my hand away. It should be warm, but it’s so cold.

I try to wake her one last time. “Mumma. Wake up. Wake up, please. I’ll be good.”

I don’t hear them come in, but suddenly harsh hands clamp down on my shoulders. A scream rips out of me, raw and painful. I look up and see Ray’s face twisted with rage.