#amma edit

“i just think some women aren’t made to be mothers. And some women aren’t made to be daughters.”

You can come up with four thousand other guesses, of course, about why Amma did it. In the end, the fact remains: Amma enjoyed hurting.

"I like violence," she’d shrieked at me. I blame my mother. A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.”

You were born into it, that cold nature. I think that's why as your mother I never loved you.

I hope that brings you some comfort.

"I’m so happy with you!" Amma laughed, her breath hot and sweetly boozy in my face. "You’re like my soulmate."

"You’re like my sister", I said. Blasmephy? I didn’t care.

"I LOVE YOU!" Amma screamed.

I blame my mother.

A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.

“I hurt,” She squealed, and twirled out onto the street, spinning flamboyantly, her head back, her arms outstretched like a swan. 

“ I LOVE IT!” She s c r e a m e d. The echo ran down the street, where my mother’s house stood watch on the corner.