Spookychild’s writings

“Katana!” Her aunt bellowed.

Katana stopped in the doorway. She turned slowly to look at her aunt. Her aunt was on her feet, arms crossed. She didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say. Her aunt was the one that had called her.

“Katana, I have just about had it. You come in here, I make the food I set the table and you don’t lift a finger to help me. What have I been raising you for? Am I just supposed to do everything for you till you die? I am going to die first. What are you going to do then, hu? Just sit around and paint that God damn cemetery until you die of hunger in a pile of crap? I mean you don’t cook, you don’t clean, you don’t eat, I am surprised you know how to change your clothes and take a bath. My God.” she threw her hands up. And then pointed a finger at Katana. “You come over here.” She pointed to the sink. “You wash the dishes, all of them, the ones I used to cook and ate off of too.”

Katana’s eyes had been getting wider and wider as her aunt talked. She could feel tears now, she never cried. She hadn’t even cried when her parents had died. But she could feel them now, they wanted to pour down her face. Katana felt sick. She felt as if she could throw up. But she didn’t. She moved to the sink and turned on the water and began to scrub.

Aunt Eloise watched her for a moment then she turned, stuffed the food into her mouth and snatched up the dishes off the table. She marched to the sink, threw the dishes into the water with a plop, causing Katana to jump. Her aunt swiveled on her heel and went back to the table and washed it up. She found a few things to put away. She was ready for Katana by the time she finished with the dishes.

As soon as Katana was finished with the dishes she turned towards the door to the living room. But her aunt was there in the way. She was glaring at her again. Katana stared at her saying nothing. She felt as if she couldn’t move.

Her aunt pointed in the direction of the cemetery and began. “I don’t want to ever come home and find you painting that cemetery again, do you understand? I don’t want you looking at it. I don’t want to see any more pictures or painting laying around. I have had it with that cemetery, or I swear to God, I will rip up the next drawing of it I find!” Aunt Eloise crossed her arms and waited for a reply.