The usual routine. I bowl in to see the scornful look of the Old Witch. She glares at me from behind her spectacles. Never greeted with a warm welcome, reproached for being a female and I certainly don’t fit her stereotype of what a woman should be. Aggressive with a passion for anything that does not conform to the typical 1950’s housewife, which is against most women’s views. But no one would suspect an old lady to be so malicious inside with such a sweet loving smile, the masquerade she puts on could fool anyone into believing she has a kind soul.
My mouth opens to make conversation but I am shot down. She is like a crocodile waiting for its prey, the time to jump in and kill is perfect leaving her victim limp and speechless. I think differently, I challenge the beast that lurks around the dim lighted hallways; it’s always been something I’ve regretted.
To have your own kin think less of you than a pet cat was strangely amusing to me, I never thought it affected me till now, when I realised that I never had any self-confidence. Back then all I would do was argue until someone had to intervene, this one time no one did. The argument escalated to new heights, screeching back and forth like wild animals, her old, over used body seemed capable of more than just the usual lounging around, a fury I had ignited in her bones was awakened. The power of something evil had possessed her, distorted the mind to take violent measures , this senior citizen feeling the power of a god come over her was now wielding her flimsy wooden spoon as it was a mighty sword carried by a knight.
Stunned by the sudden change from verbal abuse to physical abuse was certainly a new technique, thinking that it would bring me into submission and make me bow down before her so she could feel power for once in her life. My life flashing before my