Untitled Short Story

The following piece is exactly what the title claims. It is an untitled short story. It is untitled because the author is bad with emotive adjectives. It is short because it is not long. It is a story because it is not a poem or any other literary format. There! You're all caught up. Here is the untitled short story:

Her lips broke into a toothless smile as she put down the phone receiver. The job had been done.  

She slowly made her way back to her cell – the place she had called home for over a year now. She was beginning to forget what her actual home looked like after all this time. At last, the news had come after a long wait.  

She passed the grounds where the other inmates passed their day chatting in breaks between work. As for her, she was done with her routine. And after that phone call, she was quite sure she was done with this place too.  

She sat down contentedly on the cold floor. She allowed herself one more smile before the condolences started pouring in. It should be any minute now. After all, who wouldn't console a mother who had just received news of her only son's passing? 

She looked at her surroundings and felt more at ease. She was glad that she never felt accustomed to this life. The regular routine of tasks, timely meals, recreation breaks and those tedious lectures and activities had never been able to quell the rage burning in her heart. Now that the first phase of her plan had been carried out, she was hopeful that the next phase would come beckoning soon enough. That would only happen if she wasn't suspected or caught. She must be careful. She must play the part well.  

"Jaya Devi. Inmate No. 5371", she heard a call.  

Ah! Finally. Game face on.  

The sub-inspector walked in and looked at the pair of dead eyes, searching for some shred of grief as she repeated the news to the inmate. She informed the old frail looking inmate that she would be allowed to attend the funeral. She noticed  that the greys outnumbered the black hair and wrinkles covered her whole face. She wondered what this news would do to her. The loss of an only child, an adult son is not an easy one to bear for a mother in her fifties. The sub-inspector had prepared herself for an emotional outburst or a quiet sob. Instead, she was met with a nod after informing the inmate of her leave privileges in such circumstances.  

The inmate remained unmoved as she processed the terms of her release. She had been such a good girl these past few months. She only nodded and looked absently at the floor. She was informed that she be taken to the Superintendent's office in an hour, where the rest of the formalities will be carried out.  

She remained standing as the sub-inspector left her cell, leaving her alone.  

She craved a cigarette, as she always did after a job well done. But, celebrations must wait. She could not afford a single misstep in this careful little plan. A lot had to go right before she could relax. 

She tried to picture his face. She only knew basic details of how it had been done. A bullet to the head. Convenient. Too easy. She had not been allowed to discuss the way it could be done. But, this was the only way out. So, be it on his head.  

He deserved worse. He deserved far more for what he had done to her. His betrayal rang in her ears all the time. Ever since that phone call this morning, the ringing had stopped.  

Hers is an uncomplicated story. You must think that there must be something extremely twisted if a mother plots the murder of her own son. But, you don't know the half of it. Nobody knew what she had gone through, what she had done for him.  

Children were ever so ungrateful, she thought. Despite all that she had done for him, he put his own mother behind bars, never to look back, always too busy for a visit. She remembered his smirk in the Magistrate's office right before being dragged in this hellhole. She hoped she would see the same smirk on his corpse.  

She must be careful. A lot was on stake. A lot was still to be done.  

But for now, she sits back on the cold floor, looking absently at the ceiling. She wouldn't be back here. This was goodbye.  

She closed her eyes and smiled.  

Yes, finally. She would get a goodbye.  

(To Be Continued...)