The whistling of the teakettle brought her out of her daydream. Vivian sat in the overstuffed chair planted squarely in the living room. The TV droned on with abstract commercials and paid programming that meant nothing to her. They were simply shadows that writhed and existed without purpose. She was oblivious to them.
Standing with a fatigue heavy enough to bury the strongest of wills, she headed for the teakettle and the awaiting cup on the counter.
She poured the hot water to the brim, watching the liquid grow dark like that of sewer water, the hearty sweet-scented steam scorching the outlining of her nostrils.
The sink to her left leaked, each drop striking the cold metal with hollow yet thunderous pats-drilling into her brain over and over-pat, pat, PAT.
In front of her white ruffled curtains hung listless, their white taking on more of a yellow tint now. When was the last time those were washed?
Ignoring it all, she turned and left the kettle on the counter, absently forgetting to return it to the stove. As she crossed back into the living room, its shaggy carpet dotted with stains, she heard them again.
“Mommy we can’t sleep.” The squeak came from the bedroom door of the tiny, claustrophobic hall. This second floor apartment was just too damn small to raise two kids in.
Damn them, Vivian thought. They never give me a moment’s peace. “Just try babies,” she called back to them. “Close your eyes and pretend you’re in the most magical place in the world.” If they don’t get off my back I’m going to send them to that magical place myself!
She retreated back to her comfortable chair, it was the only piece of furniture in the room aside from the TV and the floor lamp that remained off limits.
Sipping slowly she noted the bitter taste of her tea. Uhg, why did everything seem to work against her? Couldn’t just one thing go right?
It could have been those damn kids. Little wretches. Why did she ever have them in the first place? They probably did something to the tea, switched it with something vile or maybe they even put something in the kettle before she filled it with water. Bastards!
After slurping a couple more gulps of the rancid tea, she hurled it across the room, watching the cup shatter against the wall, dark dribbles coursing down behind the TV.
“Mommy come tell us a story!” they called again. “We want a story!”
“I can’t right now,” she replied. “Mommy’s a bit busy right now.” The lines of her face hardened, her eyes narrowing to slits. The anger left its mark plainly upon her.
“Mommy, Mommy, MOMMY!”
“Please shut up, please shut up,” she whispered to herself, holding her face in her hands as if the worst migraine in the world was ripping at her right now, slamming her delicate head into mush.
She stared up at the clock on the wall, one am. Where the hell was Frank? Why hasn’t he come home from work yet? Those damn kids are getting on my nerves. Frank always knew how to make them sleep. His soft-spoken ways and charming personality worked miracles. They always slept for him.
Drawing her attention away from the clock, a clock that hung on a wall whose wallpaper was beginning to peel off, she went back to the kitchen.
The sink continued to drip, the sound ten times louder than before. Her hand swiped at it hard.
“Goddamit.” She growled, staring at the red welt glowing on her palm.
For a moment she caught her reflection in the stainless steel teakettle, had she really aged that much? Her once stunning black hair now had glints of silver running through it, her face was deep with lines and wrinkles, the crow’s feet wearing on her like war paint. Shying away, she wrapped herself tighter in the tattered housecoat she wore. When was the last time that was washed?
It was their fault. The brats. They had stolen her beauty like thieves in the night. She was about at the end of her rope with them.
“Mommy can we come out and watch TV?”
“Kids,” her tone was rising a bit now, sounding melodiously sarcastic. “If you don’t go to sleep I’ll have to tell your father.”
She heard no reply.
Good. That showed them. Soul robbing demon seeds; just shut up and go to sleep.
Her slippers with the holes in them slid across the linoleum with irritating scuffs as she made her way back to the living room. Sitting back in the chair, she grabbed the remote control off the arm of the chair. Perhaps there was something that could occupy her until Frank got home. She doubted it.
Vivian channel surfed on and off, stopping now and then at something mundane and insignificant or on something ridiculous and insulting to her intelligence. It was all just the same. That awful darkness began to fill her again
The despair was returning, invading her body; filling her every fiber. God it was the worst feeling, the hopelessness boiling within her like molten lava. Her body heat rose, her senses betrayed her; smelling things that weren’t there, seeing faces of people who didn’t exist. Why her, why now? Just go away and leave me alone!
“Mommy!”
She drove the remote into the chair as if it were a knife, stabbing it repeatedly as if she were cutting into something and cutting it to pieces. She knew what she wanted to cut all right, cut them up and be rid of them forever, snotty nose, ungrateful creatures. Stop bothering MEEEE!!!
“Mommy we need you now, mommy, mommy,” over and over they were just so relentless.
“Shut the hell up!! Wait until your father gets home!” she screamed to them, hoping to scare them half to death.
But no, that simply would not do. They just went on and dug deeper and deeper, tormenting her to no end.
Oh where the hell was he? That no good bastard. He was doing this on purpose. Staying out as late as possible just to avoid facing their kids. Ones he never wanted to begin with. Lord how they argued about them; from the first day they arrived. He complained that they were good for nothing, life draining and malicious little whelps who thought of nothing but themselves. Not long after that Frank swore he would leave if the children weren’t done away with. It was then that she began to remember...
“Mommy-mommy-mommy!”
“You two are gonna get it when your father gets home!”
Frank? Now it came back to her.
He really had left, he told her it was over and they had done it. It was because of them that he left. Her one true light in this world and he was gone. She watched him pack his stuff swiftly that day as if he couldn’t wait to be out of this tiny, confining apartment and flew out the door. He had never come back. Not even a phone call.
“Mommy-mommy-mommy!”
That was it! Harsh reality hit her like slap in the face. Frank was not coming back, she was on her own now. She had to take matters into her own hands. She needed to deal with them and now, for she could feel everything around her slipping away and it was all because of them.
She rose from the chair and circled it repetitiously, all the while hitting her temples with clenched fists. “What do I do...what do I do...what do I ..” she mumbled.
“Mommy-mommy-MOMMY!”
She stopped dead in her tracks and stared into the kitchen. Within moments she found herself at the kitchen counter, opening the large drawer before her she shuffled through the food encrusted silverware.
At last she found it, the enormous butcher knife slid from the inside of the drawer with ease and a grace unbecoming of Vivian. “This will fix’em,” she boasted. “Have to set things right. Then maybe Frank will come back.”
With a fiery determination in every step she stomped into the tight hall and rushed into the bedroom. The air was filled with the scent of urine. Had they wet the bed again?
She stood over them, a wicked glee in her eyes, the knife raised high above her. Without hesitation she drove it down swift and hard with her final judgment.
The knife cut deep, ripping and shredding as stuffing flew everywhere. Filling the bedroom, streaming into her hair and littering the floor. Cloth tore like butter, threads snapped and glass eyes rolled to the floor.
Vivian smiled down at them, her face twisted with dark satisfaction.
Upon the bed lay the devastated remains of two dolls, their once smiling cloth faces ripped to shreds, their stuffed bodies now hollowed out, their yellow yarn hair straggling down the sides of the bed.
One girl doll and one boy doll were now only shadows of their former selves.
Vivian returned to the living room. Sitting down in her favorite overstuffed chair, she laid the knife in her lap and picked up the remote.
“There now,” she smiled. “Peace and quiet at last. Now maybe Frank will come back when he sees I’ve finally dealt with the children.”