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A Million Miles from Home

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A Million Miles from Home Lucy Bawn The dismal black forest hid the house in its shadows. The house appeared empty; its impression of wealth and elegance had faded. The iron gates were drenched in dead roses, making the house unattractive. The path had been swallowed by the trees until there was no path at all. Everything seemed bleak, and death mourned upon the house. She cried for months, not knowing how to occupy her self. As it grew inside her, she felt she has less reason to stay in this realm. She knew the mutation which was occurring inside her womb, but her mind failed to accept it. She could not appreciate that everything had malformed; her husband left her and the unborn child she had carried was due to be present to the world. A Tuesday morning of 1959, she awoke with discontent. She stood, holding the posts of her bed, finding the weight of her body too much for her legs. Her legs trembled and her hands grasped tighter. The pain became unbearable, as she started to scream. She fell to the floor, pulling the drapes off the bed, smashing glass into a million and one pieces. She crawled to the bathroom, gasping for air. The pain became subtle. She knew that the last nine months of her body's transformation depended on this moment. Now she had to accept, she was in labour. She walked to the kitchen for towels and hot water. The wooden floor on her feet was unusually cold. ...read more.


Her mind was disturbed by the scent which penetrated her nose. The smell was strong and unknown. She searched the room to find the problem. She lifted the carpet, and what she saw managed to take her breath away and cause her to collapse on to the floor. What she saw was wrong. The red stain underneath the carpet, reminded Indie of her mum, despite never having met her: she died whilst giving birth. Indie recovered the stain and tried to forget about it. There was no point explaining it to her dad, it was sure to be her fault. She fell asleep, there was no reason for her to stay awake. . . . . . A few weeks passed, and isolation from the world in their house became unappealing to the extent of complete boredom, and at feeling very close to insanity. The only amusing thing was talking to her friends on the telephone occasionally, of which was listened to by Geraldine in the case that her mouth were to slip and she were to insult her step mother, god forbid. Their voices had changed, as though her friends were strangers. To Indie, it felt like she was talking to voices without faces: like herself. Night grew rapidly on the house, and the view outside Indie's window was the shadows of the trees. She had never considered how concealed she felt in her bedroom, a feeling of claustrophobia. The creaking of the small stairs was consistent, which infuriated her. Tonight she could not block out the sounds in her head, the wind, the trees, the stairs . . . the door. ...read more.


She hated Indie but this was the time when it had to be dealt with. Indie had always been a secret to the families surrounding Geraldine's, and she needed to be gone. She wanted no one to know Indie, as she had always been an outcast. Indie was so dark skinned, dark haired and dark eyed: Geraldine and her children were pail and thin. Indie was too good for her family and that's why Indie was discriminated. Geraldine crept up behind Indie, with a racket in one hand and a picture in the other. She sat down behind, as if there was no blood anyone and as if this basement's scene was normal. Geraldine gave Indie the picture, of Indie's father with a woman. The woman was the lady who led on the floor, black and blue. The picture was happy, so very happy. "This is your bloody mother, she ruined your father, and she deserved to be in the situation she is now. You are so like her!" Geraldine could not keep her mouth shut. She grasped the racket tightly in her hand. Geraldine stood up behind Indie. She lifted her arm back and swung through the air. Indie fell to the floor. . . . . . Indie stood up, she tuned to face Geraldine but she had already left. She turned to help her mother. Indie picked the woman off the floor, but she stood up. The woman faced Indie, and held her child in her awaiting arms. Indie had never felt so belonged in her whole life. The baby began to cry, Indie placed the baby in her arms and uncovered the sheets. The blood had cleared from the wall, and everything was perfect, absolutely perfect. ...read more.

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