When Life Gives you Lemons

When Life Gives you Lemons

Margot Pierpoint

Just wanted to say that it so far has been a really hot summer, and it's not usually so hot here, but if you have a lake or beach to go to it's not so bad. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story, I try to submit one every week, even if it's not that good. So I present to you: When Life Gives you Lemons.

*death, mangled bodies, sadness*

Back then I was young and willing. Now look at me, mother to six: three girls three boys. Back then I was young and beautiful. Now, look at me, old and wrinkled, tired and sad. That day so long ago is what changed me.

It was the evening of my father’s ceremony of life. I had been presented the task to cook the meal that would be served to all hundred guests invited. The kitchen was so clean and sparkling, and so big that every step I took resounded off the walls with a clattering echo. My mother had scribbled down on a small sheet, the menu. Her sloppy writing almost unreadable. All I had to do was match the food to its recipe in the large leather-bound book provided. The recipes, as I remember, were quite difficult, and a bit confusing. But I managed to complete the first and second course and was well into making the desert when my mother burst in. Her thin pale face was red with anger, her frail hands balled into fists. She fell to her knees and shrieked, covering her face with her hands.

“What happened?” I had asked, kneeling before her. She had looked up at me then, her clear blue eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears. She gripped the front of my shirt with desperate hands, clutching and twisting.

“Please, please. Tell them to go away, please!” She screamed a hysterical laugh bubbled through her mouth. Ever since my father died she’d been a mess of emotions, never quite settling on one.

“Mother, you have to explain. Who are they?” I had tried to sound calming and relaxed. My mother pulled me closer, her nose inches from mine. I could smell her stale breath, hear her ragged breathing.

“They are here for you and they are here for me. Please please, don’t let them get me, please!” My heart started to beat faster. My breathing began to quicken, as fear settled in. My mother didn’t usually act like this, not even in recent times. I turned abruptly, as I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see a man, his dark hair wild. I know now he was only a few years older than me, but he looked like a full-grown man to me.

“We have to go, now.” There was urgency in his voice. I looked down at my mother, cowering in my arms like a small child.

“Come on mother, let’s go.” I didn’t even get the chance to help her stand before the man said.

“No. She will slow us down.”

“I am not leaving my mother,” I said sternly, grabbing her hand. At that moment the doors burst open again and gray bodies shuffled in, slow and monotonous.

“We have to go, now!” He repeated. He pulled me away from my mother, who reached out to me with tears in her eyes, her lips trembling.

“No!” I shrieked. “No, no, no. Mother!” I struggled against his grip, but he held tight, slowly dragging me away from my mother.

“Don’t leave me!” She screamed as the mass of gray bodies surged towards her. “You said you would never leave me, you said you would never leave!” My mind had snapped back to the day of my father’s death. My mother and I had been sitting in her room on the bed, sharing a piece of coffee cake and sipping on cups of tea. My mother’s life and joy seemed to have vanished, she was an empty shell. Her eyes had been cried out and her face was emotionless. I stared out the window, gazing at the great oak tree that had been my father’s pride and joy. My mother had spilled her tea on my hand, burning me with the scorching liquid. As I dabbed at it with a napkin, my mother placed her cold hand on mine. It was the last kind gesture I remember her giving me. I looked at her, her face still impassive.

“I need you to promise, Guilia, that you will never, never leave me. Never.” She had sounded so reasonable then, it was hard to believe she was the same person. “Promise, Guilia, promise.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” I stood to take the plater of tea away. “Oh and Guilia, we need to take whatever chance we get, okay.” She touched my cheek gently. I snapped back to the present as my mother gave a blood-curdling scream. The monsters were on her now, there was nothing I could do. I stopped resisting the man and let him drag me away. I watched helplessly as my mother was consumed. We stopped at the elevator doors and waited for them to open. As he stepped in I caught a glimpse of my mother, or what used to be my mother. Her bloody limbs were tangled and ruined. Her pale face hollowed out. Something on the floor caught the light and I realized with horror that it was her eye. The once clear eyes, full of laughter and light. I kept on staring at the gruesome scene, wanting to feel the pain of leaving my mother to die. As the door started to close I remembered her words: “We have to take any chance we get, okay.” Something clicked inside and the pain I once felt changed relief, to freedom.

“I am sorry mother,” I whispered, as the doors started to close. “But when life gives you lemons,” The doors slammed closed. “You make lemonade.”