Such a bitch

My personal life didn't work out from the very beginning. She's not exactly ugly, and (knock on wood) she has a tolerable, Nordic personality, plus cheerful, playful eyes, while men always stare at others and pile up at their feet. It's a shame...

And when "my train" was about to leave, I was unexpectedly struck by luck in the form of a business traveler from Dnepropetrovsk. After a month of love and sweet dreams, I realized I was pregnant. Everything was transformed from that moment—it shone, sparkled with new colors. I completely immersed myself in a new, unexplored sensation called "motherhood."

15 years passed. That business traveler was long gone, and I was raising my daughter alone. I couldn't stop admiring and breathing in her: a beauty, a clever girl, my wondrous miracle.

 But suddenly, my wonderful miracle suddenly transformed into a terrifying Wonder-Yudo: strange black clothes, raven-colored hair, a pale face, terrible makeup. And her behavior became the same: she neglected her studies, she didn't listen to me. I suffered so much grief with her that year, you couldn't even imagine how much.

I endured everything, forgave her, went to psychologists, hired tutors, and managed to homeschool her by hook or by crook. All for her, for my darling. But no matter how much you feed a wolf, he still stares into the forest. My daughter is the same way: she sleeps during the day, half-listens to her teachers, and at night she wanders through cemeteries and basements with teenagers just as strange as she is.

And then one day, my motherly heart couldn't take it anymore, my patience snapped. I looked—my miracle was getting ready to leave home again, at nightfall. I threw a fit, grabbed her textbook, and smacked her over the head with it (she had no brains left anyway). While she blinked in surprise, I ducked out the door and locked it behind me, taking her keys as well. Let the bastard sit locked up for a while and think about her behavior. And the "bastard" screamed horrible curses and insults after me, pounded on the door, and howled at the top of her lungs. And I wandered the night streets, crying from my own helplessness and loneliness.

An hour passed, maybe two. I cooled down and headed back to the house, suddenly feeling a strange worry for my daughter. I practically ran the last few meters and opened the door. Silence...

And in the bathtub, filled with hot water, lay my daughter, her wrists cut.

 I don't remember her burial; I spent the whole time in a daze. One of the neighbors cut me a last lock of her hair as a memento. It lay in plain sight, on the table, but I was afraid to approach it; it seemed alien and unfamiliar to me: black and coarse. And on the ninth day, the lock turned gray. I rushed to the grandmothers, asking:

"Why, why did dead hair turn gray? Does anyone know anything? Maybe it's some kind of omen or sign?"

Everyone just shrugged, and only one woman said to me:

"Oh, my dear, that means your little girl is suffering terribly. The devils and demons are tormenting her in hell, and that's why she sent you this message."

My head reeled at these words. And so I felt guilty about my daughter's death, I punished myself, I gnawed at myself, and then this happened... I somehow made it to the apartment and got into the bathtub. I turned on the hot water, but it didn't flow, the damn thing. There was only a roaring and gurgling sound in the pipes, like something in a devilish cauldron. And suddenly, with a roar, the water erupted from the faucet, drenching me in blood.

I jumped back in wild horror and only then realized it wasn't blood, but rust. The water gushed joyfully into the bathroom, steam filling the small room. I picked up the razor and stared at the brown water, whispering words of remorse and swallowing bitter tears. At the last moment before the fateful stroke, I looked up and saw traces of rusty drops on the tiles. I looked at them indifferently and froze, unable to believe my eyes.

 The bizarre, rusty “patterns” clearly read: “No need, mom…”