"Whispers of Colour" - a short story by Sara Stobe
Whispers of Colour I hold my burning face. She just hit me because I forgot to empty the dishwasher. She says she hates me, that I’m the worst thing that ever happened to her, that she wishes I had never been born, because I’m a disappointment, “just like my father”. Whatever that means, because I barely remember him. I’m not allowed to be in touch with him. She doesn’t want that. She says it’s about loyalty. I sit on my bed, hugging my knees. I ache for love so much it burns in my chest. My heart feels like it’s falling apart, dying inside in slow motion. I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me. My mother has rejected me so many times that I stopped trying. I don’t know how to be a better daughter. All I know is this: I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll lose my mind. I have to save myself. Some people are aware of the situation between my mother and me. They tell me they’re sorry, but none of them ever tries to help. Her physical abuse is less severe than her mental ...