Eight — Micro Chapter 9

So today is normally the day I post an excerpt from ‘Eight’. So, I will continue to do so.

Eight

Part 1. Micro Chp. 9

The door stood half-open. I lifted my hand, hesitating for a second and then pushed gently against it. The hinges creaked, grating on my eardrums until it came to a stop. I scanned the dark room, spotting the blue and orange flames coming from the stove pushing outwards against the pan resting on the grating. At least the gas was still working.

I stepped inside the room, sliding my feet across the tiled floor, feeling my way until I reached the oven. I lifted the lid, peered into the pot, and the steamy scent of beef stew wafted up my nostrils.

My heart lifted a little knowing she’d never leave it alone to burn. She was probably upstairs with Tom. I fumbled for the knobs and eventually found the right one and turned it off, and then placed my hands on the work surface and inched my way around the edge of the kitchen.

I’d gotten maybe halfway round when my foot banged into something. I reached out, touching the ironing board, feeling a warm heat still coming from the iron. I don’t know why, but I searched for the plug and pulled it out. Unlike mum to leave it plugged in, I thought and shrugged.

I carried on, and then my foot caught on something else. Again, I reached out, but nothing stood in the way this time.

“Shit.” I took a deep breath and bent down, my hands searching for whatever the thing was blocking my way. I touched something soft, and then realised. “Oh… mum.”

Shrieking, I fell backwards onto my bum, digging my heels against the floor, my damp palms squeaking on the tiles as I tried to get as far away from her as possible.

She wasn’t with Tom. She was dead, like my dad.

Copyright © by Sarah Neeve

Eight, may not be copied, shared or unlawfully used without the prior consent of the author.

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