Lifetime of Sins

A Lifetime of Sins

Jana blinked at the cracks on her ceiling. It was quiet that morning, but she knew the quiet would not last. Very soon the thudding would begin, the banging, the screaming, the endless noise that shook the room. Then Jana would have to answer. It was the only way the noise would stop, though it never stopped for long. Sometimes, Jana wished only for quiet. It was all she really wanted. Once, many years ago, she had thought of a way to capture that quiet and make it hers, make it endless. The idea had just come to her, completely of it's own accord, and Jana had followed the plan to the letter - but the quiet never came. It would never come, Jana knew that now, but her plan had already been set in motion and now it was unstoppable.

A sudden thumping sounded high above Jana's head, shaking the crumbling plaster and loosing clumps of dust to land in Jana's eyes. The girl, however, did not jump at the sound, nor squirm at the sting of dust. She had expected all of this, because this was how it always was, and how it always would be. Slowly, Jana pulled back the heavy duvet and slid from the warmth of her bed. It was exactly eight o' clock, and time for breakfast.

Long years, now, Jana had run these errands and played out this small part. It was a meagre role she had, where she was always second to the woman upstairs: the screaming, demanding, selfish creature who never once uttered a word of kindness or thanks. A smile would have done just as well, Jana thought. Anything other than anger, distaste and disappointment would have done just fine. There was nothing other, however, just the screams and the never-ceasing thumping on the floor.

Jana poured the coffee; prepared it exactly right. She fixed a small breakfast of eggs and toast - the yoke intact; the crusts removed. Upstairs the cane beat hard on the floor, and the ceiling light swung from its fixture. Jana placed cup and plate on a floral tray, carefully creased the morning paper and set it beside the morning meal. The yells became more impatient than ever, the thudding incessant and louder still. Jana took down a box from the medicine cabinet and popped two pills from the wrapper . . . and suddenly stopped.

The noise continued, but Jana's ears refused to hear. Her glassy eyes stared absently at the pills in her hand, and the sound of the foil, crackling as she spun it between her fingers, was all that she heard. These pills would bring the creature sleep; these pills would bring the quiet. How many, Jana wondered, would she need to make the quiet stay? She thought for a moment, and then she remembered. No . . . these pills did not work. They did not help. The noise would come back the very next day, like it always did. The pills would not work, and the quiet would not stay.

Jana lifted the tray from the counter, and walked the bare boards to the staircase. She trudged the worn out carpet as she slowly climbed up higher. Each step brought the resounding thud closer and clearer, louder and stronger. Jana reached the first floor landing and headed for the door. She balanced the tray carefully on one arm as she reached for the door handle, while the paper slid to the floor. Jana stooped to retrieve it, snagging her ragged nail on the carpet as she did. She pulled back hard, and the nail tore away, ripping skin and loosing blood. Jana cursed beneath her breath and sucked her finger until the bleeding stopped. She had meant to cut that broken nail but, somehow, she just never seemed to get around to it.
  " What are you playing at out there? Where's my breakfast?"
The scream from within the room brought Jana quickly away from her own small problem, and back to the one of appeasing the noise. She pushed the door open and walked in to greet the creature.
  " Good morning, Mother," she recited on cold breath.
  " Stupid girl!" The old woman scolded; " There's nothing good about a morning. Mornings bring pain, mornings bring suffering. You were born in the morning. There's nothing good about them. Where's my pills?"
Jana clicked the legs out from beneath the wooden tray, and placed it across the old woman's lap.
  " You've forgotten the water, you stupid girl. How am I supposed to take my pills without a glass of water?"

Circling the bed, Jana stepped towards the bathroom adjoining her mother's room, filled a glass with cool water and brought it back. She wandered with an absent mind, and said nothing as she re-entered the room. The creature ignored the water and sat back, instead, to read the paper. Jana settled in a large chair by the window and waited.

There was quiet, for the time being, broken only by the ruffling of newsprint and the occasional objectionable click from the old lady. She always disapproved of the news; She always disapproved of everything. From her seat by the window, Jana could make out the headline on the front page: Body Found. It seemed like there was a murder or a disappearance every other week. Sometimes, it seemed like every day. People died all the time, and that was the end of it. People died, and people moved on. Why couldn't Jana? Why couldn't she move on?

For half an hour the old lady sat and read the paper. When she finally turned to her breakfast, she stuck one finger in the perfect, unbroken yoke of the egg, spilling its gooey contents over everything and announced:
  " Stupid girl. It's all cold. Why do you make me eat cold food? Are you trying to poison me? I'll bet you don't even cook things, hoping I'll get food poisoning. Well I'm not so stupid as you! I'll not eat your muck!"
The clatter and crash of the tray tumbling end over end from the bed marked the violent return of the noise, and the old lady gripped her cane in hand once more, and began to pound at the floor again.

Jana dropped down on her hands and knees and began to clear up the mess. She gathered the broken shards of the plate and the cup - while the old lady stamped the cane hard on the floor. Jana scraped up the egg yoke, and mopped the spilt coffee as best she could with her hands - as the old lady brought the cane hard over her back. Jana yelped a little, but held back the sob that tried to follow. The thudding went on as Jana took the tray from the room. The screams rang loud as she cleared the broken dishes and made her way back to her Mother. The rest of that morning was spent scrubbing the carpet, and choking back cries as the cane cruelly bruised her. There was strength in that old woman's arm yet and, though she swore her life was draining, there were many years left in her body still - and Jana knew that the quiet would never come.


Lunch, that day, was ox-tail soup, but clearly it was not homemade and so it flew across the room and burst over the wall. The afternoon was spent scrubbing it clean, while the old woman hurled abuse from her bed. She barely even stopped for breath. It was as if breathing was not nearly as important as deriding her daughter - that was what sustained her life, and not the shallow gasps on air.

Dinner came and went with much the same fiasco.
  " Poison! Witch! What have you been brewing up in your cauldron? Do you think I'm so stupid as to eat this muck!"
Truly there was much strength left in the old woman's arm, for the evening meal made it all the way across the room, and on through the open bathroom door. It landed with a horrifying crash and a smash and Jana knew, without looking, that the mirror had broken. How many years’ bad luck was that?
  " Well it's all your fault - giving me poisoned food - so let the bad luck fall on your head. Stupid girl! And where's my pills?"
Jana fetched the water. Jana popped the pills from the casing. She placed both in her Mother's outstretched hands and, pushing a smile, she wished her goodnight. From beneath her blankets, the creature hissed.
  " There's only death at night. There's nothing good about it!"

Jana left the room. She closed the door behind her and made it to the stairs . . . but there she stopped. There's only death at night. People die all the time. People die and others move on. Why couldn't Jana move on?

She did not take the first step down the stairs. She turned around and, instead, headed back to her Mother's room. The old woman was asleep already and there was silence. That was all that Jana wished for. She wished to make the silence stay. That was all she really wanted, all she thought about as she pushed the pillow over the old woman's face. A muffled gurgle, a sickly choke, those were the last of the noises in the room. Then, at last, there was quiet. Jana smiled, and listened to the still air.

Here, at last, there was silence . . .


. . . but the silence never lasts . . .


Jana blinked at the cracks on her ceiling. It was quiet that morning, but very soon the thudding would begin, the banging, the screaming, the endless noise, and Jana would have to answer.

She prepared the coffee exactly right. She fixed a small breakfast of eggs and toast - the yoke intact; the crusts removed. Upstairs the cane beat hard on the floor, and the ceiling light swung from its fixture. Jana placed cup and plate and carefully creased newspaper on the floral tray, and took down a box from the medicine cabinet. She popped two pills from the wrapper . . . and the noise went on and on. How many years’ bad luck? Let it be on your head.

The paper slipped from the tray. She had been meaning to cut that ragged nail, but had never gotten around to it. It snagged on the carpet, and tore at her flesh. Jana popped her stinging finger in her mouth, and moved on through the door as the creature began to shout.
  " What are you playing at out there? Where's my breakfast?"
Stamping and thumping, the screams went on. Jana moved through the room and set the tray on the old woman's lap.
  " Good morning, Mother," Jana mouthed, turning from the bed to face the bathroom door.
  " Stupid girl! There's nothing good in a morning . . ."

In the bathroom Jana ran the tap, clearing the pipes of the stale, overnight water. The old woman continued to scold, and Jana held back tears at the ice in her Mother's voice.
  " You've forgotten the water. Stupid girl . . ." the old woman called.
Jana filled the glass. She held it in her hand, twisting it in the light until it gleamed a silent promise. Back in the room, the cane began to beat the floor, drumming out a death march. Jana let the glass slip. People die all the time. A thousand shards, no bigger than grit, flew up and battered Jana's face like hailstones. Fragments of glass danced in the sink, as the water drained away. Jana reached down and grabbed a hold of the largest broken piece. She held it tightly in her hand.

Back in the room the old woman yelled, her voice not weakened by her supposed last days; her breath strengthened by the abuse she hurled. Circling the bed, Jana stepped toward her mother, the shimmering blade of glass securely wrapped in her hand. Truly, there was strength in the old woman yet, and she fought her daughter wildly for as long as she could. But her flailing arms, her screams and curses, brought her no victory this time. The makeshift blade found its target quickly, and the sagging flesh 'round the old woman's neck tore like wet paper.

Jana stood back. It was amazing how quickly the blood gathered. It was amazing how quickly the noise ended. Jana breathed in the silence. People die all the time . . .

. . . Why couldn't Jana move on?



It was much more than a mere headache. There was pounding and banging, and the pain was intense. Jana had to close her eyes and ball her fists up tight, the knuckles white and drained of blood as she clutched the small brown bottle. One or two pills to kill the pain? The packet said one, but she would take two just to be sure. After all, it was more than a mere headache.

Jana tended her mother all day and, between visits upstairs, she tended her purpled arms, fresh from the cane's assaults. That last blow had caught her full in the face, and her head throbbed with the pain. Fingers; It was like fingers pressing hard on her temples, squeezing, squashing, draining her life. There was no time to rest and rid herself of the pain, however, because the ceiling bellowed for attention, and rocked beneath the old woman's blows. Jana click-clicked the cap of the little brown bottle. It said to take one, but she'd take two just to be sure . . .



The ceiling threatened to collapse beneath the pounding of the cane as Jana slipped from the warmth of her bed. It was eight o'clock exactly, and it was time for breakfast. Perfect eggs; crust-less toast; coffee and a newspaper on a floral tray. Jana lifted the tray from the counter, and traced familiar footsteps across the bare floorboards and on up the worn out carpet.

Her fingernail snagged on the rug outside her mother's door, and the blood poured free - but Jana felt nothing. She popped her finger in her mouth.
  " Good morning, mother," Jana breathed, the motion of talking still present, but the words strangely absent.
  " Stupid girl!" Her mother answered.
Jana set the tray in place. Jana fetched the water. Jana fell on hands and knees and cleared the mess from the floor. The old woman's screeching fell on deaf ears, the blows from her cane hit hard on Jana's back - but Jana was numb to it all.

How many years’ bad luck? Let it be on your head. Jana pried the cane from her Mother's hand. Screams and foul words could not deter the swinging blows, as the cane crashed down on the old woman’s head: with a smack, with a crack, with a sickening crunch. Those were the last of the noises in the room . . .


The packet prescribed just two, but Jana popped sixteen of the gritty little pills from the foil wrap - just to be sure. The pounding persisted, both inside her head and from high above it: squeezing, thumping, pressing, bumping. She crumbled the pills into the coffee, prepared exactly right. The idea had come from nowhere, and Jana had merely carried it out.

No. No, the idea had come from Mother.
  " Poison! Witch! What have you been brewing up in your cauldron?"
The idea came from Mother, but Mother didn't recognise it when it came back to her.

Jana turned the cap of the little brown bottle. Click-click-click. She couldn't face her Mother with the headache in place. What time had it been when she'd taken the last two pills? Was it four hours yet? It seemed like long enough, so Jana sucked back the bitter tasting discs. Those two would kill the pain; that sixteen would stop the pounding.

Slow steps upon the stairway; Slow steps across the hall. A sudden twang of guilt sprung up, and put a shake in Jana's hands. The tray wobbled and teetered on her arm and, as Jana struggled not to spill the perfect coffee, the paper slipped to the floor with a muffled crunch. The bitter pills did their job well, and Jana barely noticed the rip of her skin as her nail tore away.

She waited outside the door, watching her blood slip slowly from her hand. There was more of this blood beyond the door - this same blood, running through the cold veins of the old woman; The same blood that pumped and gave strength to her cruel hands. Could Jana really bring herself to freeze that blood; to stop it's flow? She hesitated.

She hesitated too long.
  " What are you playing at out there? Where's my breakfast?"
Thump-thump-thump. It was more than a mere headache and the pain would never stop; the quiet would never come. Jana moved on into the room.


Settled in a large chair by the window, she waited. Mother was drifting: drifting asleep; drifting into silence. Faltering, slowing, gentle breaths, the steady tick-tick of the clock on the wall, those were the last of the noises in the room. And at last the silence came.

Jana sat back. For a moment, at least, she enjoyed the peace both she and her Mother had. She inspected the dry flakes of blood around her crusted fingernail - her blood, the same blood she had just ceased. Suddenly the pounding began again.

It was much more than a mere headache. The bottle had said: " Take one, four hourly." Jana had taken eight, and the fourth hour had yet to come. Throbbing, squeezing, pressing, beating. Jana slipped from the warmth of her body, and fell into the cold of the quiet she had longed for - but the quiet did not last.

  " Stupid girl! Think you can rid yourself of me that easily? I'll not go quietly!

You've killed us both. Only you could be so stupid! Finally you get the guts to stand up to me, to push me down into the fire, and then what do you do? You jump straight in after me! Stupid girl!

Here is our Hell now, witch! Mine to suffer your poison, yours to deliver it upon me. And I swear, I'll never go quietly . . ."


Jana blinked at the cracks on her ceiling. People die all the time. People die and others move on. Why couldn't Jana move on?

The cane thumped loudly on the floor, and the old woman screamed abuse from her bed. Jana pushed her weary body on into the room, and wearily wished for silence . . .


. . . but the silence never came . . .