My Mother - Original Writing

903 Words Dec 3rd, 2015 4 Pages
Charity was sewing in the kitchen, mother cooking beside her, offering my younger sister tips and clucking like a disapproving hen when Charity pricked her finger. I cleared my throat, announcing my presence. “Where’s the father?” I questioned. “Still working, I suppose,” my mother responded, letting out a huff of annoyance as Charity dropped her needle again. “Men don’t like women who can’t sew,” she snapped before returning to her potatoes. Charity looked to me helplessly--she was only thirteen and still learning, but mother was as harsh as the winter on her simply because she was born a girl. I offered her an apologetic shrug and collected my school bag, preparing to go work on homework upstairs when the door burst open. In came our father, documents overflowing from his briefcase and his face an astonishing scarlet. The entire family stood in a stunned silence, staring at the flustered man in front of us. My mother was the first to break the silence, and even then she spoke in a timid voice, small and frail like a young deer. “How was your day, dear?” Father didn’t respond, only slamming the door behind him and tossing his briefcase down. “They’re taxing it!” he snapped, stripping off his jacket and casting it dangerously close to the fireplace. I’d seldom seen him this mad; he was a calm and cunning man who valued family. To see this fuming red creature in front of us was certainly a shock to all. Even our hunting dog, Colonel, was peering curiously from…

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