by M. J. Joachim
It was a game of wits – the kind they both knew how to play. This one was different somehow. Janice felt uneasy, despite the faith she that her sister would never hurt her.
Tit for tat, they challenged each other. Janice had the upper hand when the evening was over. Play would resume again tomorrow. Play always resumed, until Mother called the game, a game that seemed to never end.
Mother was in charge. Her girls had been trained from the time they were babies – groomed for this moment in time, a moment when Mother would accomplish her strange and erratic desires.
Father knew this day was coming. He loved Mother, and chose to give her everything she ever wanted, regardless of what it was. That was his faithful promise to her, so many years ago.
Janice winced, quietly and calmly, as her warm blood slowly drained and soaked into her mattress. She knew at once, Mother had finally called the game.
That’s all for now.
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Photo credit: Sisters, Bertalan Székely (1835 – 1910), Hungarian National Gallery, PD – US
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