No!

I was only fourteen, naive enough to mistake the silence in my home for peace. That illusion changed the evening I saw a horrifying side of my mother I never knew existed.

She didn't look like herself. Her eyes were wild, bulging yet narrowed with fury, her mouth spewing words that I couldn't hear or make out because she had forcefully tied my wrists and ankles. The word, “No!” tore from my throat as she picked me up and shoved me into a plastic drum filled with water.

If you're shocked by the turn this tale has taken, I was beyond terrified that evening.

My wrists burned against the rope while my feet had gone numb as the cold water covered me up. I writhed inside the drum, the smell of algae and damp earth filling my nose.

Every attempt to breathe sent water splashing over my face and into my mouth. My eyes burned forcing me to squeeze them shut and raise my head as high as I could, kicking my legs inside the water.

My crime was sneaking out after school to meet friends at the riverside. Mum and several neighbours had searched around the community until a friend reported seeing me at the riverside. When I returned home smiling, Mum's angry gaze dissolved my happiness into dread.

She said, “Your father spoils you and lets you get away with bad behaviour but I will teach you a valuable lesson today.”

As I struggled to stay above the water, raised voices—my dad and mum—reached me through the walls of the drum. I would sigh for relief if I could but the water was pulling me down.

“How dare you?” Dad shouted. “Open that drum this instant.”

“I will not,” Mum yelled back. “You see the silly things she does in this house and let them slide. You do nothing around here. Nothing!”

I heard pounding sounds on the drum followed by struggles, water sloshing from side to side throwing me against the plastic wall. Panic set in as I swallowed more water, making my stomach churn.

“Leave the drum be,” Mum sobbed. “This is all your fault.”

“Are you crazy? That's your daughter in there.”

“I carry this house alone. The bills, the children… and all you do is…nothing.”

There was silence after that revelation. The drum had stopped shaking and I was tired of kicking my tied legs to stay afloat.

Then the drum rocked and the lid flew open. I felt Dad grab my arms, lift and pull me out of the water. I couldn't stand and clung to him as he hurriedly untied the ropes around my wrists and ankle. He cupped my face and shook me, calling my name repeatedly like a mantra, his voice trembling.

I could only lift my eyelids a little, seeing Mum huddled in a corner, crying. Not angry tears but the broken kind that ripped me up inside. Then I realised she wasn't angry at me. I had simply become the nearest target for years of pain, exhaustion and resentment.

As Dad carried me to his car, rushing me to the hospital, I thought I heard Mum whisper, “I'm sorry, Zoe. Forgive me.”

For the first time in my life, I learned that silence could be the sound a family makes while it is drowning.

I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "No!".

Thank you for visiting my blog.

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