My contribution to the deadlinesforwriters short story challenge June 2025. The prompt was „Purpose“ and the required word count was 1200.
Whatever It Takes
I am here to make sure my mother is okay.
Her name is Rose, and she is the last of her kind. At least I think she is. It is nine in the morning, and she is still asleep, so I climb up the stairs to her bedroom to check on her. Her bedroom is dark, so I draw the curtains for her.
“Mother? Are you awake? Did you sleep well?”
She blinks open her eyes and straightens up from her nest of blankets. I detect the tiny crackling sounds her joints make on the way to an upright position.
“Good morning, Darling! Thank you, yes! I feel much better than yesterday.”
“Should I bring you breakfast? What do you want?”
Mother shakes her head. Her soft grey locks are tousled from the night. Maybe I should help her braid them in the evening so they get damaged less.
“Oh, Robin! I am old, not ill. Just wait for me downstairs; I won’t be more than ten minutes.”
I return to the kitchen and flick the kettle on, also the radio. The programming has changed a lot recently, much less dramatic news, but also the readers had to be completely replaced. I miss the genuine warmth in their voices.
Mother enters the kitchen just as her cuppa is done brewing. She sends a crooked smile my way and pats my shoulder.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Robin. Another day, eh?”
She sits down with a sigh and looks at the breakfast table I have set for her.
“Thank you,” she says. “Any responses from anyone yet?”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I haven’t heard from any of your friends.”
I wish I had better news for her. But after ten days of silence, we will probably have to accept the facts. They should have listened when she told them to hide when it happened. But then not all of them had someone able to go outside to get food and other supplies. Or a good hiding place.
We go on to talk about a variety of little things while she eats, nothing of any particular significance. Neither one of us is good at this, but lately we have found that sometimes it helps to pass the time in between the serious conversations. The worry is visible in the way Mother’s forehead wrinkles and the almost constant wiggling of her toes in her socks.
When we have exhausted all the inconsequential things we can think of, she sighs again.
“I’d like to spend some time in the lab, maybe get the sonic converter fixed. Could you go out and try and find more food supplies? Anything really, preferrably things that last?”
“Of course,” I say and clear the table while she goes downstairs.
We both look younger than we are. With me it makes sense, but many of her friends kept asking how she does it. Good genes, I guess. On my way to the front door, I check myself in the mirror. Not because I want to impress anyone; it’s just the way I work. My long blond hair is just the right amount of imperfect, as is my 91.5 percent symmetrical face, my eyes the same light blue as Mother’s.
Outside, the streets are empty. Nobody bothers me on my way to the nearest supermarket, which is open with all the lights switched on. I load stacks and stacks of cans into a trolley until it is almost too heavy for even me to pull it. I lug it past the abandoned checkouts and then all the way home. It feels a bit weird to squeeze the trolley next to the garden shed. Hopefully she is going to like spaghetti loops and beans for the foreseeable future.
When I close the front door behind me after everything has been unloaded and put away, I wonder why there haven’t been any of the others out there. Maybe they are just taking a break. Or maybe they have decided to give up searching. Either way, I relish the quiet.
I find Mother in her basement lab, tinkering away with the converter she hasn’t been able to bring back to life for years. The contrast between her light blue flannel shirt and her hand-knitted socks on the one side and the sleek and shiny equipment on the other will never stop being fascinating to me.
“I got you a lot of cans. Sorry that I didn’t think to take the car, so I will have to return to the shop at some stage. I really want to take better care of you.”
Mother turns around and flips back the eye protection shield. She leans back against the spare parts cabinet and shakes her head, smiling at me.
“No, darling, I will keep telling you until you believe it: you are not responsible for my well-being. I made you to study you, like your sisters. You are my finest work, and I am happy to have you here without any expectations. You are here to enjoy your life. And thank you for the food, Robin.”
She does keep telling me this. Yet I observe her growing old, and also my kind has turned out to be a big problem, to put it mildly. So I find it hard to enjoy my life while Mother is so breakable.
In any case, our conversation is interrupted by someone banging on the door.
“Open up!” they shout. “I know you’re not alone in there!”
I rush upstairs. To my dismay, I can hear Mother following me.
When I open the door, at least it’s not my face looking back at me. A different model, maybe not even a cousin, a bit shorter than me with a brownish pixie cut. And still, there is nothing cute about her. I can feel her anger vibrating around me.
“Give that one to me, and we will leave you alone!” she shouts.
Never going to happen. But before I can lunge at her, Mother hits her with a blast from her converter. I am half impressed she got it fixed and half worried this will only infuriate my relative even further.
But even though the converter isn’t actually meant to be a weapon, the intruder goes down immediately. Unfortunately, she hasn’t come alone, so two more jump out from behind the shrubs.
The fight is short and blurry. Eventually, the other two are on the ground, bent into weird shapes and smoking from a barrage of sonic blasts. I know they will not be the last, but even worse, Mother has also fallen down on the hallway tiles and isn’t moving.
I check her breath and pulse, and they are there, if terribly weak. This forces my hand, and I pick her up in my arms to carry her downstairs. All the years of watching her work and learning how to put the proper spark into someone like me are going to pay off. And there are more than enough parts in the lab to make her less breakable. They will not get to her ever again.
As long as I can, I will make sure she is okay. Whatever it takes.
Like my contribution to the story challenge June 2025? You can find more of my stories here!
Schreibe einen Kommentar