An idea?


“I’ll try my best to be happy…”

Those were the words the mother said as she contorted her hands like snake charmer’s, with eyes that darted chameleon, with feet that sunk like concrete pillars.

Oh no, thinks the daughter, her head bobbing up and down. She will have to snap her head back and forth again until it is over. Like snarfing pills.

It hurts.

Like snarfing pills.

It is the only way.

Like the pills.


The girl has been living with her mother like this for many many years and is used to decoding her language for many many years. In fact some might say she is an expert, like Michelangelo was with painting pretty women and Van Gogh was with cutting ears.

Through the scrambler, even anagrams start to make sense.

But she is young, and she might as well occupy her self. She liked to hear electronic voices, like she imagined a real scrambling machine would sound, as her mind jumbled the words. She wasn’t sure if she liked it because she liked it or because she always did that, and thought about it as she waited and waited and eyed her mother out of the corner of her eye lazily like a frog. Even though her mom was actually taller and more voluptuous than her, her sallow skin and parchment presence made her shrink, shrink, shrink, like paper that touches fire.

“To be happy…” she finally heard her mother say through the decoder, as something in her sunk in that clear green pool of confusion that lurked beyond her inky pupils.

“I’ll do anything to make you happy,” she chirped, bright and fresh as the centre of a daisy. The mother brought her face closer to her and kissed it. “I knew you would,” she drawled, back to normal.

The girl the pressure in her head dissipate in relief. Everything would be fine. As it always was. Everyday.


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