Lady Macbeth: A Short Story

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As I laid down in my bed, I remembered that my mother had forgotten Winston and I’s bedtime lullaby. Even though I was six by now, I couldn’t get a wink of peaceful sleep without hearing the soothing voice of my mother. Clad in striped pyjamas I wriggled out of my heavy duvet, creating spirals of different sizes. Just as I was about to turn the doorknob, I saw a shadow lingering outside the door. I backed out quickly as I had sensed the presence of my beloved mother just on the opposite side of the wooden slab. The door opened, revealing a woman of average height with a square face laced with pink blush. The hair of that woman was neatly combed to the side on her left shoulder ending in semi-circles. They looked like frozen waves on the shore. With a timid smile, my mother tucked me in my bed. Her pink gown flowed as she proceeded to switch off the eight multicoloured lamps in our room. Then, she took out “Ordinary Jack” from one of the wooden shelves. Strangely, she sat in between both of us and started reading from the book. In anyone’s mind, she could be easily defined as beauty. However, that beauty was never just a beautiful woman to me. She was my everything. She was my ‘beautiful mother’.
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My eyes squinted to see the figure better. Was he my father? Because only father gets to carry my mother. Although the built and the hair colour was same, my sharp sense instantly recognised the man as my uncle. The very own uncle who would then make goofy face was now trembling with fear and rushing outside the room. As soon as I recognised the figure, all the wailing, whispering and praying registered my ears. Everyone was in our room. My eldest brother’s eyes were wide open with his lips having a distance of at least an inch. The expression on his face was mixed, it was surprise, anger, sadness and ‘horror’. Judging by his facial expressions, I knew that he knew what the elders
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