Castor's Revenge Page 3
Stepping on the bottom step he looked back at his mother. The anger he felt caused him to raise his clawed hands, imagining them fitting snugly around her neck. The joy expanded in his chest, as he envisioned her face turning blue, then purple and finally to grey as the overbearing, anxiety-inducing life left her. He felt his step lighten as he made it way up the stairs, whistling merrily as he reached the second floor.
Over 2 hours later…
Slinking down the stairs, Elder paused at the parlor door listening for his mother’s breathing. Please, let her be asleep. Please, let her be asleep. He chanted quietly in his head. Slowly peering around the corner, he blew out a soft breathe. Her chin resting on her chest was a good sign. Now, all he had to do was sneak in there and grab the tray without stirring the beast.
Carefully, Elder, carefully. As he crept towards his mother, he watched as her shoulders rose and fell in her hauntingly rhythmic pattern. Up, up, up, up, doooowwwwwnnnnnn, hiccup, up, up, up, up, down painfully slow, hiccup…
He collected the tray, staring unblinkingly at her bobbed head. Silently praying he would not wake her up. His hands clenched as he remembered the feel of her cane on his back the last time he rattled her precious tea set.
He had only been a boy, 6 or 7, when the little saucer had slipped out of his hands and shattered upon the marble tiles in the solar. She hadn’t needed the cane to walk, yet, but did she know how to use it as an ‘attention getter’. Before the pieces had stopped quaking, she had flown across the room, wielding that wretched cane as if it were a sword and she were a knight of King Arthur’s court defending God and Country.
A slight tinkling sound brought him out of his memory. Without realizing it, he had begun to shake causing the china to tinkle ever-so-slightly against one another. Snapping his back to his mother’s sleeping form he managed to minimize his convulsions. Quickly, albeit quietly, he stepped backwards towards the hallway and the relative safety of the kitchen. Never taking his eyes off the sleeping beast.
Rounding the corner into the hallway, he felt her presence evaporate and was able to breathe again. Why can’t she just die already? What have I done to be tortured by this old…bitch? Elder quickly looked around, afraid his wayward thoughts would alert someone, anyone, to action and bring back the cane lashings
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I have spent quite a few years writing short stories that never quite fit into the 'normal' genre. When I came across the different erotica genres I was overjoyed. I had found my writing family. I hope that everyone enjoys what I've written. Please feel free to send me a comment/suggestion good/bad/indifferent. I appreciate all feedback! Bright Blessings!