She was always complaining about something but steadily she had got worse at it. She would speak about her ailments as if they were the medals which life had thrown at her. Tried to make Z a hapless victim so she would not leave her. She was on heavy duty medication but most of it she spat out look I am ill. I am unwell it is real.
In the end Z developed into a complex character out of some evil tormented novel.
"No not like this novel. This novel happily has all them evil characterisations which are all greedy."
"Thieves and bandits?"
"Sure go ahead malign us. Defamatory characterisation."
"Getting lost for the plot line I reach for the optics and see something else and go after it."
"But did it really happen?" asked the white washed lady.
"How do I know I'm I the honour with a fool I am just telling you it is a possibility that it is true."
"Delightful audiences she is picking on me I fear to be a brunt of such stuff."
"Such a novelist as me?"
"It is low class and it is not nice."
"I am inflamed."
"Then don't read it."
"The thing is it is such a good idea for a review of me."
"So you do." I am simple but this woman is not wise.
I continue with the story the other thing is simply a symptom of some class disease.
She disliked her symptoms if she did she let them go. The doctor said something about it being like psychological or something she could control her own symptoms her own body. If she willed it she did get worse. On holidays she was the centre of attention being wheeled by me. I am odd they thought wheeling a woman who was perfectly able to walk.
There is not much for me to add what is there to add she beamed inside as if the cruelties she had mattered most to her. In the old days it would have seemed as if she enjoyed herself most when she had us jumping up and down on her demands.
"It is over for me," said ma it is over. "I am done for there is nothing."
"What is over for you ma?"
"My health." she snapped, "Life you fool."
"Why what is wrong with it?"
There is a glare as she seems to think about something then she changes her mind. I am not usually so obtuse but this night I was it was because there was too much on my brain I had to do the laundry as well as the cooking and the two were conflicted with home work on my brain. I am slightly autistic. It is a fact there is nothing more confusing to a autistic then doing two things as my dyslexia had not been treated to live alone in that mountain of work was like survival every day. Mother kept the pressure up like a pressure cooker she disliked me. I knew she did because she did not praise me like the others she did not even thank me she thought everything her right.
It did not bother me it made me feel like a loner the other kids were okay with me doing all the chores because when mother did them she complained and made a accident that meant they had to stay indoors. I was a Cinderella of sorts because never went out when I did it mattered because the foolish thing was unable to take care made so many misunderstandings and mistakes did wrong and never right. I am the girl who will never get on. I thought sometimes oddly despairing like a broken toy.
People take advantage all the time as if they destroy the very foundations of one. I am those people who never take advantage of the ambitious project I am a girl I thought who will be here forever. I am trapped in something like a skin like a demon and that makes me fearful as if the nights are peaceful too peaceful because I have never taken advantage of what the nights offer.
I am embedded in the walls like some survivor from the ghostly past there is nothing but this crying there is never going to be anything else. I am going to haunt this place forever and ever.
"We must take her to the doctor to see what ails her?" said mother she frightened easy she did not like me she feared my temper she just did not want to push me too far. She felt that I behaving nicely and the other man agreed with her that they had to tread gently. But dad was being very difficult impossible violent.
He hated them for being right because they had been in this for a long time and dad was tired of them. He was tired of their forebodings and their gentle manners. He asked for the violence to begin so he could throttle kill and kick out.
He had done so many of them yet for me he had another plan he would milk and milk until there was nothing left then he would do it. The parents in some state agreed without much cheer they knew me they knew that I was some kind of a witch they knew what not to do. I am protected by something which even dad feared. That was before all that happened in the past when I took care of someone done it for free did not expect payment. Dad was livid.
Dad said," real estate she cannot haunt my cafe like that. I will lose money."
But the couple disliked work they did not deny I was useful in the shop and dad was very disagreeable with them always asking for the shop to gross more and more. His wife did not live with him in fact daddy can't live with anybody. Not on equal terms there is nothing but this addiction to pain he feels. He is one of those who fears nothing and to feel is all he asks and when he has something he discards that breaking it like a toy permanently.
"I live in those walls." I said to dad. He thinks for some reason this is a nothing to do with love there is nothing to do with anything but the consequence of disobedience. Because it is all in some disagreeable manner one has to bend the knee to dad. Dad comes up he will fumigate them walls so that he is well protected by the poisons.
"Protected against me."
"Yes, yes that is right."
Can a mad man drive everyone insane? I was feeling them walls again I am inside them staring at the world inside them walls I can almost see everyone because I am now almost ghostly. In former days prisoners had the same things because when imprisoned they had the walls to pretend with to write on I painted them walls because there was no one else to paint. I disliked that there was someone he had a wife whom he loved without that I would not be here trapped. I am trapped because he is a man with a wife.
Another day another year in this little makeshift jail. Another year years roll into more years and then some more until all the little dots add up to more dots and more as if the whole thing is a see through mirror of the time I spent here. My hair goes white. Someone is excited her hair has gone white she is no longer young.
The older people are looking like their enjoyments and energy has increased they seem to prosper I am glad for them. They are never going to love me they are never going to care for anything but money. The walls seem to crumble as if they are shaken by something.
They bother their heads more about such stuff than me? They think about the cafe they are so crass. They think they own me? The labour of my hands is my whole usefulness in this life? I am nothing but this useful labourer. There is nothing the matter with us all said the good doctors that you leaving home will not resolve. The thing is when the bitch on heat is stopping me getting work that is ba
"Well yes." Said dad as if the matter was closed.
Then he went outside to take the air came back with his poison a bottle of whiskey which he said he did not have to pay for. Because I never found out then when the day came dad said I was the payment the pay off. I was the one who had to pay for all his good stuff.