Honey cake!

His mother was smiling and nodding at him. Raindrops splashed on the window glass, and his heart was beating to the rhythm of pure joy.

Help me, his mother told him.

Yes, mom.

He left the rosary on the table, and she showed him how to take the dough, how to roll it out, and knead it. He would dig his fingers into the soft dough and start rolling it on the floured surface. It was strange, but still, it was pleasant in a way. His mother was smiling at him and he was proud to be old enough to help her.

Now, go wash your hands.

He was getting off the bench and going to the bathroom. He heard the front door open. He looked through the gap in the door and saw the edge of the cloak, from which raindrops were falling.

He heard his mother saying: Leave me alone, what’s wrong with you?!

Then he heard a male voice saying: Everyone knows what you are doing!!! Everyone is talking about you!!!

He watched his mother running out of the house and watched the coat fluttering behind her. 

Whore! could be heard from the yard.

He opened the bathroom door and ran into the bedroom. He crawled under the bed and closed his eyes. After a while the door to the room slammed shut, and something heavy was piled on the bed above him. He held his breath.

Go away!!!

Whore, whore, whore!!!

The shallow breathing and his mother’s voice shouting: Stop, stop, please!

The bed was starting to creak, he could hear banging and his mother started screaming. Her screams filled the space. Then suddenly everything went silent. He listened to the strong beating of his heart, fear completely paralyzing him. Something began to drip down his forehead. He lay under the bed for a long time, not daring to move, not daring to breathe. The bed creaked once more, he saw feet step across the floor and continue walking towards the door which opened and then closed. When he thought enough time had passed, he got out from under the bed. The one lying on the bed was no longer his mother. He ran outside.

Tears ran down his face and poured into his mouth along with the blood. He pushed the leaves away with his hands and ran through the darkness. The branches beneath his feet snapped, and those high up scratched his face. He could feel his heart throbbing in his neck and thought the veins in his neck were going to burst. The taste of copper went down his throat, he spat out blood. Suddenly something wrapped around his leg, pulling him down and he felt pain in his knee. He reached out and felt the roots of the tree and the moss. He was not supposed to shout, quiet, quiet, quiet, it rang in his brain, and his consciousness was invaded by thousands of images that he did not want to see. The images he saw before him were clutching his neck and suffocating him, the bed above him was still creaking, and blood was dripping down his face and melting his hair. Fear was paralyzing him and completely shrinking his lungs. Suddenly he heard a thud. He closed his eyes, a stream of urine running down his legs. The moon appeared through the clouds and the moonlight illuminated the leaves of the prickly bushes. Something warm touched his skin. He turned and before he could even scream, his body fell to the ground. The taste of copper was replaced by the taste of wet earth.

AuthorIrena Svetek
2023-10-01T12:00:24+00:00 September 9th, 2023|Categories: Prose, Literature, Blesok no. 151|Comments Off on RED RIDING HOOD