Surviving Eleanor: A Daughter's Rebellion

Name: Surviving Eleanor: A Daughter's Rebellion
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Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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The smell of grain and something sour-a barn in my suburban kitchen-was the first sign of something deeply wrong with my seemingly normal life with my mother, Eleanor. Standing over the blender, humming an unsettling tune, she poured what looked like chicken feed into it, her eyes wild with a grim, fanatical determination. "It's for your own good, Sarah," she explained, utterly calm, "The curse from your past life, when you were a neglected pig, is still holding you back. This will cleanse you." My stomach lurched; this wasn' t the first time she' d spouted Mrs. Gable's charlatan nonsense, but the ritualistic "cleansing" had never been this tangible. "I am not drinking animal feed," I said, my voice shaking with disgust. "This is insane." Her composure shattered. "You will drink it!" she shrieked, lunging at me with the sloshing blender jar, pinning me against the wall as the world went dark. I gasped, sucking in the familiar, acrid smell, my eyes snapping open to find myself on the kitchen floor, my mother still humming, the bag of chicken feed unopened. I scrambled up, touching the back of my head-no blood, no pain, just the impossible, terrifying realization: I had died, and now I was back. "Mom, what are you doing?" the words escaped me, a ghostly echo of a conversation that had already occurred. Her face held the same fanatical expression, as she began, "It's for your own good, Sarah. Mrs. Gable was very clear-" "No," I cut her off, the phantom pain in my skull too real, "Stop." Then came the final blow, a chilling announcement that shattered any remaining hope: "I've already found a man for you. Mark will be here any minute. He's a good, strong man. He knows what to do with a difficult woman like you." This wasn't just a curse; it was a cage. I had to get out.

Family Thriller Betrayal Revenge Personal growth

Chapter 10

07-03 15:56

Introduction

The smell of grain and something sour-a barn in my suburban kitchen-was the first sign of something deeply wrong with my seemingly normal life with my mother, Eleanor.

Standing over the blender, humming an unsettling tune, she poured what looked like chicken feed into it, her eyes wild with a grim, fanatical determination.

"It's for your own good, Sarah," she explained, utterly calm, "The curse from your past life, when you were a neglected pig, is still holding you back. This will cleanse you."

My stomach lurched; this wasn' t the first time she' d spouted Mrs. Gable's charlatan nonsense, but the ritualistic "cleansing" had never been this tangible.

"I am not drinking animal feed," I said, my voice shaking with disgust. "This is insane."

Her composure shattered. "You will drink it!" she shrieked, lunging at me with the sloshing blender jar, pinning me against the wall as the world went dark.

I gasped, sucking in the familiar, acrid smell, my eyes snapping open to find myself on the kitchen floor, my mother still humming, the bag of chicken feed unopened.

I scrambled up, touching the back of my head-no blood, no pain, just the impossible, terrifying realization: I had died, and now I was back.

"Mom, what are you doing?" the words escaped me, a ghostly echo of a conversation that had already occurred.

Her face held the same fanatical expression, as she began, "It's for your own good, Sarah. Mrs. Gable was very clear-"

"No," I cut her off, the phantom pain in my skull too real, "Stop."

Then came the final blow, a chilling announcement that shattered any remaining hope: "I've already found a man for you. Mark will be here any minute. He's a good, strong man. He knows what to do with a difficult woman like you."

This wasn't just a curse; it was a cage. I had to get out.