Mother's Day

I hate Mother's Day.

Mother's Day

By Mark L. S. Stone

“Mom?” I called out, walking carefully through the darkness. The random noises gradually resolved into the sound of labored breathing.

Her voice echoed weirdly. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to see you.”

“Go away.”

I reached her. In the scraps of light that filtered in I could make out the slippery bulk and shifting coils of what she had become.

“This is your fault,” she hissed, but she didn’t try to harm me.

“I did what I had to do,” I admitted, “I couldn’t let you succeed. But you’re still my mother.” I sat down. “Happy Mother’s Day, mom.”