Thread: Maria (Contains violence and strong language)

This is the first of a trilogy of short stories.

The keys rattled outside the door. Maria flinched. He came in, and she heard the rattle of the dish as he dropped the keys. A pause, then the sound of the door banging shut. Not locking it tonight? No. Not tonight. The sound of uneven footsteps from the hallway, loose floor boards creaking through the carpet. No other sound, no talking. just slow, heavy, unsteady movement.

The footsteps moved down the hallway. She sat on the sofa, her legs curled up underneath her, her arms wrapped around her, stiffening, twitching and flinching. She heard him move towards the kitchen. Good or bad? Had she missed something? Is he going to be wanting something?

She heard the hiss of a beer opening, the fridge door creaking then clicking shut. Glancing at the television set crackling in the corner, she lowered the volume with the remote control. Listening. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered briefly then glowed. She felt weak, light-headed.

She gazed down, examining her skirt, saw how worn and unfashionable it was. She doesn't make the effort. She opened a can, one of her own lifted from the floor, and rested it in her lap, cradled in her hands. The cold tingled through her fingers. She looked at her legs, stretching them in front of her, noticed the tiny hairs scattered across her calves. She saw her bare feet, toenails uncared for, some blackening with the bruises.

She drew her thighs together, supporting the can, stopping it spilling, lit a cigarette. She shook the match away as the cigarette glowed, watching the thin trail of black smoke rise towards the ceiling. She pushed her hair back over her ears and pulled her legs back into the sofa as the door opened.

He came in. Him. Lifting the remote control from the seat next to her. he fell into a chair on the opposite side of the room. He was drinking from a can, three others dropped to the floor next to him. Toying with the remote, he flicked through the channels. Maria watched, waiting for the moment when he'd look over, waiting for the movement in his neck so she'll know to look away, look down, anything but look him in the eye. Look in his bloodshot drunken eyes. She flinched as he raised the gold can and drained the remains. He looked across. No words. She sipped from her own can, carefully, quietly, eyes fixed on the television.

He dropped the empty can on the floor. "Pick that up" He kicked at it, his foot glancing the side, setting the can spinning on the carpet. His eyes drew back to the TV. She watched, without moving, as the can moved a few feet from his chair, into the middle of the room. She carefully placed her drink onto the floor and stood, moving towards the spinning metal. As her hand reached down, she felt him kick at her arm. "Got any smokes?" His voice had an edge of sarcasm, curling the side of his mouth.

She moved back towards the sofa and passed him the packet. Pulling a lighter from his breast pocket, he lit one without speaking, dropping the packet onto the floor next to him. Maria moved the ashtray onto the small table next to his chair then moved back to the sofa. She gently sipped, one after the other, the can moving from her lap to her mouth, emptiness.

"Have you eaten?"

She saw his hand reach down, and move the lever, the chair reclining as he stretched his feet out, crossed at the ankles. He opened another can. "Why would I have eaten?"

"Do you want something? I could..."

He looked across at her, eyes hooded, the glaze of alcohol playing across his face. "Do whatever the fuck you want. Usually do, don't you? My darling."

She sat, huddled at the edge of the sofa, her hands gripped to the metal of her beer can. She didn't speak, staring at the carpet, watching the small dark stain where the dregs of his first beer can had leaked before she could get to it. She felt he was following her eyes, she knew he would see the stain, and she knew it would be her fault. It was her fault. She should have been quicker. It was her job to keep the house nice. It was her fault.

"Where you been?" She looked up, saw him staring, sat up in his chair, his hands gripping his knees, feet pulled back, ready to stand. She looked down, somewhere different this time, drawing attention from the stain. "I haven't been out. I went to the shop this morning to get some food something to drink, but I haven't been out apart from that."

"So you haven't been out, but you managed to go to the shop." She knew the tone, mocking, laughing at her. It was understandable, It was a simple question that she couldn't even answer. She sipped at the can, then gulped a mouthful. He wasn't trying to trick her, but she still managed to say stupid things. No wonder he got angry.
"I asked you if you've been out. You have been out, haven't you. Don't lie to me" She heard the creak of the back of his chair coming back up.

"Just the shop. For the food. I'm sorry, I got it wrong, but I've, just the shop, nowhere else."

"Who is he?" He was standing, his feet inches from the stained carpet. "Is it that fucking Paki's son?"

It was that time. Maria knew this mood. He'd obviously had a bad time at work, and, understandably, needed a few drinks before he got home. She could see why, what with all those idiots he has to work with. Bastards he calls them. She didn't help matters, what with her attitude, but she did try, every time she tried to learn and try harder to be a good wife to him, but every time she let him down. She could see why he would be suspicious.

"I don't know what..." Careful. She stopped and thought quickly. She could feel the beer taking effect, topping up her levels, speech beginning to slur. She knew better than to talk to him with slurred speech. She knew that she was a disgrace to him, why he was ashamed of being seen with her. He was talking about other men, accusing her of seeing someone else, He thought he knew what happened, that she went off with men while he was away at work. He'd seen her that time, looking at that man when they went shopping for his mother. She wasn't looking at him, but thinking back, she could see why it made him so angry, and she was ashamed. So ashamed to have made him act the way he did.

Nothing happened. She could tell he had had a good few drinks before he got home, and he was topping them up with the cans she had got him from the shop earlier. She needed to play the part of the good wife. It was for her to make amends as best she could, to make up for all the times she had let him down in the past, if that was possible. She remembered what her mum used to tell her about keeping home, how she had taught her to cook and iron, and keep her man happy, because he went out and earned the money, worked hard to keep a roof over their heads. "Keep the wolves from the door" as mum used to say.

He'd turned back to the TV, another fag lit, drinking. She had to do her duty, to look after him. "I'll make some dinner." He didn't reply. She moved from the sofa, carrying her can carefully, and moved through into the kitchen.

Nice Style.... Waiting for more....

Hope nothing bad happens to her =S

She gazed down, examining her skirt, saw how worn and unfashionable it was. She doesn't make the effort. She opened a can, one of her own lifted from the floor, and rested it in her lap, cradled in her hands. The cold tingled through her fingers. She looked at her legs, stretching them in front of her, noticed the tiny hairs scattered across her calves. She saw her bare feet, toenails uncared for, some blackening with the bruises.

She opened a can, one of her own lifted from the floor, and rested it in her lap; cradled in her hands.

I'm not sure if the semicolon is right. That's how I would write it. It sounds clumsy the way you wrote it.

She drew her thighs together, supporting the can, stopping it spilling, lit a cigarette. She shook the match away as the cigarette glowed, watching the thin trail of black smoke rise towards the ceiling. She pushed her hair back over her ears and pulled her legs back into the sofa as the door opened.

She drew her thighs together, supporting the can; stopping it spilling. Lit a cigarette.

Again, I'm not sure if this is correct, but the way you have it there are too many commas.

"I don't know what..." Careful. She stopped and thought quickly. She could feel the beer taking effect, topping up her levels, speech beginning to slur. She knew better than to talk to him with slurred speech. She knew that she was a disgrace to him, why he was ashamed of being seen with her. He was talking about other men, accusing her of seeing someone else, He thought he knew what happened, that she went off with men while he was away at work. He'd seen her that time, looking at that man when they went shopping for his mother. She wasn't looking at him, but thinking back, she could see why it made him so angry, and she was ashamed. So ashamed to have made him act the way he did.

He was talking about other men, accusing her of seeing someone else. He thought he knew what happened, that she went off with men while he was away at work.

You tend to overuse the humble comma. Most of the time a full stop would suffice.

As far as the story goes I find it deeply unpleasant. Which, I guess, is what you're aiming for. I like Maria's voice except when she talks. Most of the time she comes across as a nervous wreck, but when you allow her to speak she looses something. I can't put my finger on it, but I found myself having to re-read her lines.

The husband certainly dominates the story - not just Maria – with his abrupt dialogue.

I'd be interested to read on.

Thanks for the comments. The Thing (Mr Thing?) I see your point about the comma etc. I do have a tendency to overuse, so good spot, thank-you. Got you on the Maria speech. The whole thing is based on the three story idea. Maria is a part of it but I agree that although I use her, I don't give her a proper voice. I would be interested in your views once I have posted the other two parts. Appreciate the time you've taken to comment.

The Thing, you found it deeply unpleasant. That was indeed the intention - I am trying to portray domestic violence. I hope that it comes across as I intended. I notice you want to read on, which I appreciate.