0008: Belief
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0008: “Mom, I puked.” Everly’s mother rolled over and a strangled sigh escaped her thin lips. Her eyes slit open and surveyed Everly’s state.
She raised her small wrist up and held it above her head as if to block the sun.
Everly leaned her forehead against it.
“No fever,” her mother croaked and then the maroon covers swelled back over her face.
From under the duvet came the directions. “Just clean it up and go back to bed.”
Everly blinked at the mound in the sheets. She wasn’t surprised. This is how they did it in the Barker family.
They handled their business. Or, in this case, their regurgitated Arby’s.
Everly padded out of the room, back down the winding staircase and into the dark kitchen. She removed a bucket from under the sink, pulled on two sticky yellow cleaning gloves, and squeezed out a blue rag.
She could have been annoyed, she could have felt rejected, or uncared for.
But she felt empowered.
Her mother’s belief in her to take care of the situation was a vote of confidence, not a lack of caring.
She could handle this. She could handle anything.
She didn’t need anyone’s help, ever.
A metallic pulse sizzles up Everly’s neck, jolting her back to reality…
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Written by Michelle Lang
Image by #MidJourney
She raised her small wrist up and held it above her head as if to block the sun.
Everly leaned her forehead against it.
“No fever,” her mother croaked and then the maroon covers swelled back over her face.
From under the duvet came the directions. “Just clean it up and go back to bed.”
Everly blinked at the mound in the sheets. She wasn’t surprised. This is how they did it in the Barker family.
They handled their business. Or, in this case, their regurgitated Arby’s.
Everly padded out of the room, back down the winding staircase and into the dark kitchen. She removed a bucket from under the sink, pulled on two sticky yellow cleaning gloves, and squeezed out a blue rag.
She could have been annoyed, she could have felt rejected, or uncared for.
But she felt empowered.
Her mother’s belief in her to take care of the situation was a vote of confidence, not a lack of caring.
She could handle this. She could handle anything.
She didn’t need anyone’s help, ever.
A metallic pulse sizzles up Everly’s neck, jolting her back to reality…
---
Written by Michelle Lang
Image by #MidJourney