Each day was a constant battle for authority. She had little or no power in her household, and it drove her crazy most days. Some days she merely switched off, pretended she was someone else, somewhere else, doing something else.
But eventually He would bring her back to reality.
It was horrible to live a life devoid of love, hating the one you made, the one you brought into the world. But she did. She hated him. His constant demands, the harsh words, the power reversal that was their family.
For unlike most families, in which the parents were the authority figures, her family was very different. Her son held all the power. Just one word was enough to send her running to him, to see what was wrong, what he wanted now.
Some days she even thought dreamily what it would be like without him, and occasionally these daydreams progressed into something more sinister; evil thoughts of killing, and blood, and his screams, not hers, polluting the landscape.
But then she would gasp, drag herself to the surface of her own sub-conscious and think about something less evilly delightful, like washing dishes, or hanging out washing.
He had come into the world quite difficultly, as if even then, He was willing to suffer discomfort in order to hurt her. They had feared they would lose the child, a thought that had then horrified her, and now made her wistful. The ordeal had left both mother and child weak, and because of that He had been coddled, and babied, until He had them under his thumb and was strong enough to keep them there.
A shrill shriek cut through her thoughts, and she ran upstairs as quickly as possible, her ageing joints creaking painfully under her. The door was open a crack, a few shafts of light being let in from the hall, shining on his face, making him squint.
Six hundred pounds of pure mass lay on the bed, fat legs leading up to a fat body, opening up to a hideously distorted face, rolls of skin rubbing together as He turned his face to hers. She cringed inwardly as she looked at the blubbering mass that was her son. Thirty years of coddling and babying had lead to massive weight gain to the point of indisposition.
Grunting painfully as he attempted to roll over, he stared at her scornfully.
"My… pillows are too… hard." He growled. "Fluff them."
She leant over dutifully and awkwardly lifted his head in order to reach the pillows.
As she pulled them out, the foul stench of human defecation rose to her nostrils, and she gagged. She looked down at Him, and he smiled, and evil smile. A smile of power.
"You looked bored mummy dearest," He rasped painfully. "Thought I'd give you something to do."
She stared at him, taking in his humungous form; beady, watery eyes; and the smell… his legs, his arms, his fat, fat face. And something clicked. Her eyes grew wide, and as she stared at him, something happened that hadn't happened for a long, long time. A smile was cracking her lips apart.
He stared at her uncertainly, his eyes narrowed.
"What..What are you doing?" He screamed. "Clean me up, bitch!"
She began to laugh, hesitantly at first, and then louder, until she wept. Her hands clutched at her chest, her knees buckled.
"You…you…" She tried to get the words out. "You have no power!"
His eyes widened for a split second, then snapped shut.
"I have power over you! Don't you forget that! You made me what I am, so now you must suffer, bitch! Now clean me up!"
She laughed again. "You shit in your pants like a little baby!" A pause, an eerie silence filled the room, as she repeated, "You have no power."
Turning her back on him, she went to walk out of the room.
He whimpered. "Where are you going?" Silence. "I said WHERE ARE GOING?"
She turned back around, the look of power now shining in her eyes, his face empty and pathetic.
"To reclaim my freedom."
And as the sound of the door slamming echoed through the small, still house, some twenty minutes later, the screams began