A Salty Story

I had already turned half the house upside down looking for the damn salt. Where the hell is she hiding it? I searched the kitchen drawers and tore up the living room – I even checked under the couch cushions. This place - God, it stinks. The sour, musty air makes the walls feel like they’re closing in. I ran up and down the hall, desperate, opening every door. Damn this fucking chicken soup; it’s never salty enough.

Frustration burned in my chest as I dug through the fridge. But then, my heart skipped. It wasn’t salt – but a beautiful, three-layered chocolate mousse cake. My fingers trembled as I pulled it out, staring at the rich layers, smooth and pristine. It looked almost untouched – like she had barely even opened it.

I brought it to the table, tore off a chunk, and shoved it into my mouth. The chocolate hit me like a drug, melting on my tongue, silencing everything around me for a few blissful seconds. It was the kind of silence I could never find here – real silence. But it was fleeting.

A faint sound – soft, almost rhythmic – tickled my ear canal. I could hear it just enough, like it was coming from the house itself, moving closer. The cake wasn’t enough to calm my nerves. The buzz in my head kept growing louder. What had she put in it? My heart raced as I licked the last bits of mousse off my finger.

Then, the smell. Awful. It crawled up in my nostrils like a virus, twisting my stomach. I gagged, electrifying shivers going up and down my spine. The stench wasn’t just in the air – it was inside me. Like I was a rotten piece of flesh. I stumbled back, my vision blurring, unable to stop myself from swaying. A faint voice echoed in my head. Her voice.

No, no. I cannot go back there.

The pain hit me again, sharp, cold. I felt my feet slap the ground with each step, unsure of where I was going, but I had to keep moving. Bumping into furniture, I found myself in her room. I pushed open the window, desperate for air. The fresh breeze cut through the toxic fog in my head, but the ringing in my ears only grew louder. It was coming closer. The sound.

I froze.

And then I saw her.

She was standing there, like a ghost, In the middle of the room, holding the oh-so-familiar leather belt in her hand, smiling at me.

No, this can’t be. I blinked hard, trying to shake the fog out of my mind. But she was still there, just as real as before. I ran past her, back to the living room, and there she was again. But this time, she wasn’t standing.

She was lying on the carpet in front of me. Her neck twisted at an impossible angle, her eyes wide and blank, staring . My breath caught. This was real. She was really gone. The sight of her – disjointed and broken – made my jaw clench. The pain in my chest tightened, but I refused to cry.

She didn’t deserve my tears.

I moved toward her, my hands shaking, and tried to look away, but I couldn’t. My gaze was drawn to her like a magnet. Even in death, she had this power over me. And I hated it.

I turned away as a wave of nausea hit me fast. I threw up – first the chocolate mousse, then the soup – onto the red carpet. The taste in my mouth was bitter. My stomach churned violently as I collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath.

I screamed at her. “Stop looking at me like that!” My voice was cracked and raw, but I kept shouting, as if yelling could make her disappear. “I’m done with you! I’m done!”

But she didn’t yell at me back. Not this time. Not ever again.

I wiped the tears away before they could fall. Not now... Not here. She haunted my every thought. Her voice… her voice was still in my head. I couldn’t get rid of it.

The guilt twisted inside me, but it wasn’t as sharp as it should’ve been. She was my mother. My own goddamn mother. I remembered the times she held me when I cried.

I grabbed her body, feeling the coldness of her flesh seeping into my skin as I hoisted her up. The blood-soaked carpet looked almost satisfied by its latest meal. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t see me. She never did.

The stench of her perfume was unbearable now, clinging to my nostrils. It slithered beneath my skin and crawled inside my head like a worm. I stumbled, holding her body, trying to find a place to hide her. A place where she wouldn’t be found. It needed to end, now.

I staggered to the balcony, opening the glass door with one weak hand. Her body flopped in my arms like a rag doll as I dragged her out. Her head hung limp, her twisted neck reminding me of how fragile life was. It made everything feel so…

I stared at the horizon, at the city below. The world was still turning, and I was still here.

She was the burden now.

I looked down at my hands, covered in blood. I was stained, and I couldn’t wash it off. I reached over the edge, my vision swimming. Everything was blurry. Everything was spinning. I held her over the railing, my heart pounding, but I felt nothing. No fear. No sorrow. Just… relief. It made sense, after all.

‘Goodbye,’ I whispered. And then, I let go.

Her body fell. I heard the sickening thud of it hitting the ground below.

It was done.

I closed my eyes, letting the wind rush over me. The cold air felt almost comforting, like a mother’s touch.

But I could still hear the sirens, louder now, too loud to ignore

I turned back into the house, my legs weak beneath me. My head was pounding, my heart racing. In the living room, the mess was still there – the spilled soup, the cake crumbs on the table. I looked around, but nothing felt real. I wasn’t even sure if it was.

But there, sitting on the table, was another bowl of soup. Warm. Just as she had left it. And beside it, a small vial of salt.

I stared at it, my mind trying to catch up. Salt.

I picked up the bowl, brought it to my lips gently, and took a long sip. It was not salty enough, but I didn’t care. The warmth spread through me. The sirens were so loud now, like they were part of the air itself. But it was fine. Everything was fine.

I was finally free.