Tea Time


Her screams are the only ones you hear. Until the kids start to scream. Sometimes they scream for them to stop. Sometimes they scream from fear. Sometimes, they just scream.

They’re different.

His screams.

They’re jumbled with peals of laughter and squeals of ‘it’s my turn, Daddy.’ With giggles bubbling and flowing around them, between them, through them.

They start low.

Her screams.

They strain against the shimmer in her sunny lilt. Once, twice, three times she calls, ‘Come and get your tea.’

No one hears.

No one’s listening.

The silence is deep, long. The aftermath of their joyfulness lasts for days.

Screams spent she wanders whispering, ‘Why don’t they want to be with me?’

Published by Melinda

Melinda writes short stories to explore her obsession with the shades of grey and contradictions of being human.

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