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Wicked Fury

Wicked Fury

“You are a waste of life. Plain and simple,” hissed Mrs. Hischer. The room went completely silent. Even the screaming one-year-old baby closed his mouth, drool dripping from his pudgy face. The clock ticked slowly in the background, and for a split second it was as if time was stopping. Mrs. Hischer, a woman in her mid-forties, stood her ground, her fat hands placed on her bulging hips. Mrs. Hischer was not a force to reckon with. Her eyebrows were ever so slowly forming into a single unibrow, with a caterpillar of a mustache forming on her upper lip. Her eyes were almost red, and purple veins bulged from her stark neck. Her brown hair was done in a short, terrible perm, giving her the appearance of a toy poodle. From her hideous youth, she never had the chance at having braces, thus making her have crooked, coffee-stained teeth. Her arm fat jiggled when she moved, her legs chunky pieces of meat. A hair-covered mole decorated her inflated face. A few warts even dotted her left hand. To top it all off, she always wore flower-patterned dresses, all of which were three sizes too small.

Her husband, Mr. Hischer, wasn’t much better. At 6’ 5”, he was tall, but still carried a lot of weight. His blond hair line was quickly receding, his scalp crusty and flaky. His nose was too long and pointy, with black nose hair poking out. His feet were too big for his body, and his pecks were not what one would consider in shape. A giant beer belly expanded over his belt, his pant buttons threatening to snap. It seemed everyone but him knew he should stop drinking. As the “man of the house”, he assured everyone that since he made the money, he should be able to do whatever he wanted, thank you very much.

Mrs. Hischer continued to glare at their 17-year-old daughter, Hannah. Hannah, unlike her parents, was skinny and pretty. Her face was symmetrical, her teeth naturally straight. Her nose was just the right size, and her hands were wart-free. Her hair was brown, wavy and long. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly the smartest tool in the shed. Nonetheless, everyone adored her. Everyone but her parents, that is.

Her little brother, Mikey, began to wail again. With the flick of her hand, Mrs. Hischer motioned her husband to take the baby to his room. Mr. Hischer obeyed, and soon it was just Hannah and her mother alone in the tiny, cramped kitchen. The refrigerator hummed, its ugly green doors shaking ever so slightly. A fly buzzed through the room, until Mrs. Hischer grabbed a tightly wound newspaper and smashed the life out of it. I feel like that fly, thought Hannah.
Suddenly, it was as if she were four years old again. She remembered sitting in the small hallway, her head poking around a corner so she could see into the kitchen. Her mother sat at the table, furiously ripping old photos into tiny pieces. An empty wine glass sat on the wooden tabletop, the bottle beside it completely dry. She recalled yelling; her father’s booming voice had filled the tiny room. The wall Hannah was clutching began to rattle. Her father’s words were slurred as he screamed nasty remarks at her mother. Just when she thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, she watched in horror as her father ambled over to her mother. She fell out of her chair as he began to smack her, and it was minutes later when the strikes and blows finally subsided. Not knowing what else to do, Hannah crawled back into her bed, silently wishing for another family.
***

Hannah just stood, also standing her ground. She returned her mother’s gaze, unwavering. Normally, she let her mother tower above her. Normally, she just took the insults, the threats of being thrown out, her mother yelling at her “you ain’t good for nothing!” Not today, she thought, strength pulsing through her veins. You will not make me feel awful, ever again.

“You’re stupid, Hannah,” continued her mother. “You’ll never amount to anything. Ever. Accept your fate now.”

Hannah felt disgust wash over her as she watched her mother’s eyebrow arch. Her eyes twinkled from sadistic joy. The ugly, huge mole danced in excitement across her cheek, the hair on it swishing as she moved. She wondered why her parents never seemed to like her.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, teased the clock. When she couldn’t stand the silence anymore, Hannah abruptly descended down the short, tiny hallway to her bedroom. A few seconds later, she could hear Mikey snoring, and her parents watching TV. Knowing she’d never have this much strength again, Hannah began to hastily pack clothes and various items into a small bag. In the front room, she could hear her parents laughing obnoxiously, their voices trailing. Knowing they wouldn’t hear a thing, she slipped out the back door.


The sun was beginning to fall behind the horizon, the sky etched with brilliant reds, pinks and oranges. The summer air was warm and comforting, and birds called to each other as they soared. Trees swayed in the breeze, and to everyone else, life was just fine. Hannah strolled for a long while, trying to relax and not think about her mother.
She decided she’d get away for a while, maybe stay with an aunt or a friend. She finally reached the bus stop and plopped herself down on the nearest bench. She felt her eyelids droop, the stress of the day finally catching up with her. She was so tired that she didn’t notice the strange man staring at her from across the street.


The man’s face bore large, black sunglasses. He wore a business suit, a brown leather briefcase in hand. He was the same height as Hannah’s father, yet his figure was remotely skinny. He was in his mid-thirties, a five-o-clock shadow covering his face. He had huge, bushy black eyebrows. His eyes were a charming light green, and his voice held a silky tone.
Hannah continued to rest as the man began to saunter over to her.
“Hello there,” started the man.
“Hi,” replied Hannah.
“You look a tad lonely. Want some company?”
Eager to share her problems, Hannah let the man squeeze onto the bench with her. She recalled the events of the day, leading up to where she sat now.
“That sounds terrible. I’m sorry your mother treats you that way,” the man said. “Why don’t you come back to my house for some tea? I only live a block away.”
Thinking it was a great idea, Hannah began to gather her belongings and stand up. A second later, she heard shouting.
“Get away from my daughter!!” exclaimed a familiar voice.
“Mom?” Hannah squeaked in surprise.
“You creep. You think preying on young women is fun? How dare you?!”
Mrs. Hischer began to beat the man with her purse, random objects flying out as she did so. Smack, smack, boom, crash the bag went as the man cowered in pain. Pedestrians across the street began to openly gawk, but Mrs. Hischer couldn’t care less.
“Sicko!! Pervert! Screw you!!!” she gasped in between beatings. After a couple more smacks, she stopped. Panting, she turned to Hannah.
“You wanna know why I’m so tough on you? This is why. Learn some street smarts and maybe I’ll be nicer to you. Toughen up, buttercup.”

The man quickly got up and ran away, tripping and stumbling.

“That’s right, you run!” Mrs. Hischer shouted. “Now. Hannah. Let’s go home, shall we?”

Hannah’s face held a mixture of confusion and anger. She didn’t exactly understand what just happened, but she was beginning to know why her mother was the way that she was. She and her mother began to walk home together, side by side.




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