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Authors: Andrew Biss
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existence. I had to leave. To where I did not know, but it was time to make an exit while I still could. I looked frantically from left to right. If I could just remember which door I came in – or which door went out. It all started to look the same, but I had to get out – I had to. My sanity was at stake. I had to go. Go quickly. Leave! Now!
I heard the sound of another child, this time giggling, echoing all around the house. In mad desperation I ran to the door I thought to be the one that Mrs. Anna had left by. When I swung it open, standing before me was Luka, her stomach hanging down in a mass of bloody entrails from the middle of her dress, little pools of blood forming on the floor beneath her. In one hand she held an AK-47 and in the other an empty vodka bottle. Her eyes were closed and she was leaning forward, puckering her lips, as if waiting for me to kiss her. I screamed and stumbled back, almost falling to the floor, then lunged forward and slammed the door shut again.
Out of nowhere, I suddenly heard the opening bars to ‘The Theme from Mahogany (Do You Know Where You’re Going To)’ begin to play. I grabbed desperately at the handle of the door to the left of me, which I thought to be a closet, but since I was no longer sure of anything, decided to give it a try. Upon opening it I could hardly believe my eyes. It was indeed a closet, and standing inside of it, wearing a big, black, long-flowing wig and an extravagant dress festooned with sequins, was my mother. She held a microphone to her mouth and proceeded to lip-synch the words of the song, giving me a knowing wink just before the first line.
I stepped back, more confused than frightened, and as I watched her mistimed attempts at miming the words I began to feel very light-headed.
As she stepped forward towards me, I could feel myself begin to swoon, everything starting to spin and swirl around me. Just as I felt myself falling to the floor, my mother deftly reached out with her free arm and caught me, still continuing on with her mismatched mouthing.
Held tightly against my mother’s sequined bosom, the sound of Diana Ross filling my ears, my conscious mind slipped away into the night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mother
W hen I came to, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table once more. The room was empty, but I could hear the sound of my mother’s voice off in the distance. Why was she here? And how did she know how I’d be here? And most curious of all, why was she impersonating Diana Ross inside one of Mrs. Anna’s kitchen closets? True, she wasn’t the most conventional person you’d ever meet, but this seemed like a rather puzzling way to behave, even for her. I could only assume she must have gotten horribly drunk at some fancy dress party and somehow stumbled upon The End of the World as she tried to stagger her way back home. Small world, I thought.
Presently, my mother entered the kitchen, dressed conservatively – much to my relief – and carrying a small handbag, still talking over her shoulder as she did so.
“No, no, no, Mrs. Anna, if you don’t have 700-count cotton sheets I’m sure whatever you do have will be perfectly satisfactory – but I’m afraid the nylon has to go. That said, I don’t want to be any trouble, do you understand? None at all. I want it to feel as though I’m not even here.”
At first she didn’t seem to be aware of my presence at all, her attention fixed solely upon rearranging a small string of pearls she wore around her neck. After a few moments, however, she looked up and beamed a huge, sparkling smile in my direction.
“Oh darling, isn’t this place simply marvellous? Almost heavenly in some ways. I say almost because…well, let’s face it, it is a bit rough around the edges. But who knows, perhaps that’s what they were going for. Anyway, even though I’ve barely had time to unpack I’m already beginning to feel quite at home.”
Unpack? What was happening? I held my
I heard the sound of another child, this time giggling, echoing all around the house. In mad desperation I ran to the door I thought to be the one that Mrs. Anna had left by. When I swung it open, standing before me was Luka, her stomach hanging down in a mass of bloody entrails from the middle of her dress, little pools of blood forming on the floor beneath her. In one hand she held an AK-47 and in the other an empty vodka bottle. Her eyes were closed and she was leaning forward, puckering her lips, as if waiting for me to kiss her. I screamed and stumbled back, almost falling to the floor, then lunged forward and slammed the door shut again.
Out of nowhere, I suddenly heard the opening bars to ‘The Theme from Mahogany (Do You Know Where You’re Going To)’ begin to play. I grabbed desperately at the handle of the door to the left of me, which I thought to be a closet, but since I was no longer sure of anything, decided to give it a try. Upon opening it I could hardly believe my eyes. It was indeed a closet, and standing inside of it, wearing a big, black, long-flowing wig and an extravagant dress festooned with sequins, was my mother. She held a microphone to her mouth and proceeded to lip-synch the words of the song, giving me a knowing wink just before the first line.
I stepped back, more confused than frightened, and as I watched her mistimed attempts at miming the words I began to feel very light-headed.
As she stepped forward towards me, I could feel myself begin to swoon, everything starting to spin and swirl around me. Just as I felt myself falling to the floor, my mother deftly reached out with her free arm and caught me, still continuing on with her mismatched mouthing.
Held tightly against my mother’s sequined bosom, the sound of Diana Ross filling my ears, my conscious mind slipped away into the night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mother
W hen I came to, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table once more. The room was empty, but I could hear the sound of my mother’s voice off in the distance. Why was she here? And how did she know how I’d be here? And most curious of all, why was she impersonating Diana Ross inside one of Mrs. Anna’s kitchen closets? True, she wasn’t the most conventional person you’d ever meet, but this seemed like a rather puzzling way to behave, even for her. I could only assume she must have gotten horribly drunk at some fancy dress party and somehow stumbled upon The End of the World as she tried to stagger her way back home. Small world, I thought.
Presently, my mother entered the kitchen, dressed conservatively – much to my relief – and carrying a small handbag, still talking over her shoulder as she did so.
“No, no, no, Mrs. Anna, if you don’t have 700-count cotton sheets I’m sure whatever you do have will be perfectly satisfactory – but I’m afraid the nylon has to go. That said, I don’t want to be any trouble, do you understand? None at all. I want it to feel as though I’m not even here.”
At first she didn’t seem to be aware of my presence at all, her attention fixed solely upon rearranging a small string of pearls she wore around her neck. After a few moments, however, she looked up and beamed a huge, sparkling smile in my direction.
“Oh darling, isn’t this place simply marvellous? Almost heavenly in some ways. I say almost because…well, let’s face it, it is a bit rough around the edges. But who knows, perhaps that’s what they were going for. Anyway, even though I’ve barely had time to unpack I’m already beginning to feel quite at home.”
Unpack? What was happening? I held my
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