small drabble/ficlet/flash fiction what have you...
Shifting her weight to the other foot, she rested her forearms against the cool granite counter taking a small break before resuming her task at hand. Her heels pressed flatly against the travertine-tiled floor and no matter how many times she shifted her feet, the dull pain never went away. The humidity made the working conditions in the kitchen that much harder to bear, and the occasional breeze from the open window in front of her was her only relief from the intense summer heat.
She grasped the blade firmly between the pad of her thumb and the knuckle of her index finger, curling the remaining fingers around the bottom of the handle and stared down at the batch of onions she had to cut next. Keeping the tip of the knife on the cutting board, the young girl moved the rear of the knife up and down with a level of skill only attainable after years of practice working alongside her mother in the kitchen.
Tears welled up in her eyes soon after she made the first cut into the onion and she groaned recalling how out of all the vegetables she hated cutting onions the most. “Stupid onions,” she muttered, sniffling as the tears began to stream down her face. Putting the freshly cut pieces into a bowl, she wiped away the tears and began working her magic on the next onion.
“Look how big you’re cutting them!” She heard her mother yell over the loud noise of the pressure cooker as it released its pent up steam. “I told you I wanted them tiny!” The older woman continued to nag as she peered down at the cutting board over the young girl’s shoulder oblivious to how her daughter tensed up. Talking back would do her no good and instead she cringed when she heard her mother mumble, “you never do anything right,” as she walked back to attend to the contents inside the pressure cooker. The girl knew better than anyone that her mother wasn’t just talking about the onions anymore.
“I never do anything right.” The girl whispered before they were enveloped into a silence that was deafening. Maybe her mother didn’t mean for her words to have a double meaning, the girl reasoned. Then again, what difference would it make? The damage had already been done and no amount of “what ifs” and “maybes” would rectify their already troubled relationship. Instead, she went back to chopping the onions, except this time she didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that streaked down her face. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure if she was crying because her eyes stung or because her mother’s words cut like a knife and pierced her heart to the core of her being.
All she ever wanted was to make her mother proud, and she couldn’t even manage to cut an onion good enough to meet her standards. A tear trickled down her face as she stared bleakly at her mother after the older woman wrenched the knife out of her hands and pushed the girl aside so she could cut the already chopped pieces of onions infinitely smaller.
The girl’s eyes wandered over the image of her mother’s back, wanting so badly to just wrap her arms around those shoulders that carried the heavy burden of the world and along with them her daughter’s failures with a strength she was certain she would never possess. But she didn’t. One hug wasn’t going to change things. It wasn’t going to undo every mistake the young girl made during her life or take back the tears her mother shed at her expense. One hug wasn’t going to change the look of disappointment in her mother’s eyes every time the young girl caught the older woman staring at her. One hug wasn’t going to eradicate the feeling of being an utter failure, because she could never do anything right.
word count: 657
She grasped the blade firmly between the pad of her thumb and the knuckle of her index finger, curling the remaining fingers around the bottom of the handle and stared down at the batch of onions she had to cut next. Keeping the tip of the knife on the cutting board, the young girl moved the rear of the knife up and down with a level of skill only attainable after years of practice working alongside her mother in the kitchen.
Tears welled up in her eyes soon after she made the first cut into the onion and she groaned recalling how out of all the vegetables she hated cutting onions the most. “Stupid onions,” she muttered, sniffling as the tears began to stream down her face. Putting the freshly cut pieces into a bowl, she wiped away the tears and began working her magic on the next onion.
“Look how big you’re cutting them!” She heard her mother yell over the loud noise of the pressure cooker as it released its pent up steam. “I told you I wanted them tiny!” The older woman continued to nag as she peered down at the cutting board over the young girl’s shoulder oblivious to how her daughter tensed up. Talking back would do her no good and instead she cringed when she heard her mother mumble, “you never do anything right,” as she walked back to attend to the contents inside the pressure cooker. The girl knew better than anyone that her mother wasn’t just talking about the onions anymore.
“I never do anything right.” The girl whispered before they were enveloped into a silence that was deafening. Maybe her mother didn’t mean for her words to have a double meaning, the girl reasoned. Then again, what difference would it make? The damage had already been done and no amount of “what ifs” and “maybes” would rectify their already troubled relationship. Instead, she went back to chopping the onions, except this time she didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that streaked down her face. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure if she was crying because her eyes stung or because her mother’s words cut like a knife and pierced her heart to the core of her being.
All she ever wanted was to make her mother proud, and she couldn’t even manage to cut an onion good enough to meet her standards. A tear trickled down her face as she stared bleakly at her mother after the older woman wrenched the knife out of her hands and pushed the girl aside so she could cut the already chopped pieces of onions infinitely smaller.
The girl’s eyes wandered over the image of her mother’s back, wanting so badly to just wrap her arms around those shoulders that carried the heavy burden of the world and along with them her daughter’s failures with a strength she was certain she would never possess. But she didn’t. One hug wasn’t going to change things. It wasn’t going to undo every mistake the young girl made during her life or take back the tears her mother shed at her expense. One hug wasn’t going to change the look of disappointment in her mother’s eyes every time the young girl caught the older woman staring at her. One hug wasn’t going to eradicate the feeling of being an utter failure, because she could never do anything right.
word count: 657