Motherâs Record
She stood with her black face some six inches from the moist window-pane and wondered when on earth it would ever stop raining. It was bad enough that she was stuck there, but the rain just made the entire situation less manageable. At least she had her candles and piano music to keep her somewhat sane. She was alone, and she was just fine with that. No one could get to her in the storm anyway. She pulled herself away from the window illuminated with lightning and the pitter-patter of drops, echoing her uneasy mind. The drumming on the glass was calming to her. She lit a candle and began to set her place for dinner when she heard a sharp rat, rat, rat coming from upstairs. She chuckled. Her imagination always had been overactive in situations such as this. She finished her dinner and set off to put a record on her motherâs old phonograph. She would truly miss her mother; it was a shame those events turned out the way they did. As she settled down for the evening, listening to the sharp rain against the window, she finally felt content. She was alone. Besides, in this storm, no one would ever find out where she was or what she had done. Â














