BBQ

Everything is glowing bright in the setting afternoon sun, the light covering the world in a million shades of red. Smoke is hanging thick in the air, making the heat of the disappearing day even more unbearable for those that bother to notice.

Bowls of salad, fruit, bread and other delicious looking and smelling things are passed along the tables, losing something with every hand that touches them. The sound of meat sizzling on the grill mixes with laughter and light conversation. Everyone is enjoying themselves. On the second floor of the house, behind a window, paper birds seem to fly effortlessly through the air.

‘Hey Carol, where’s Mallory?’ In the wind, her ocean blue dress, moves like waves, as she approaches her childhood friend who is dressed in black.

‘Hi dear, you look lovely.’ Carol’s voice is smooth and calm, as always. Her eyes take in every little detail, even those that shouldn’t be seen, like the necklace that is hanging around her friend’s neck which Carol had seen being bought by one of her friend’s students. ‘How is the party? I feel like I’m just running around. I haven’t even said hello to everyone yet.’ A smile covers Carol’s lips, amusement and exhaustion her eyes. She holds out a plate of burgers, stuffed with meat from the grill, that she was about to take over to a table in the shade of the house. The woman in blue gratefully takes one and praises the cook, Carol’s husband, for his excellent work at the barbecue.

‘Everyone is wondering what kind of meat this is, it’s so good.’ But before she can get an answer, the woman in the black dress is called by her husband and she turns, swiftly, leaving her friend standing there.

The moment Carol places the plate of burgers on a nearby table, two of the neighbourhood boys take one, thanking her. As she walks up to her husband, she watches the people – her neighbours and friends – who seem to not have a care in the world.

‘Could you get more meat? I ran out.’ Her husband whispers in her ear. His breath is cold in the heat of the day. With knife and plate in hand she goes through the kitchen, into the living room, down the hallway and opens the door to the basement. The air goes cold and damp, the laughter inaudible, as she descends the cold concrete steps, with the sharp stone walls, into the cellar. The door behind her, now closed, doesn’t let in any light. Her nose involuntarily twitches in disgust as the light bulb on the ceiling stops flickering.

Kneeling down on the floor she takes the knife and cuts parts of the meat into smaller pieces. With caution she places a few slices onto the plate. The meat is still fresh. The bones white. She is about to leave the room, but before she does, she takes a last look, but there is nothing the person in black hasn’t seen before. The floor is covered in dried blood. The flesh is cold. Chopped off parts lay around. Letters written with the last breath and blood read I’m sorry… followed by something illegible on the white tiled floor. Eyes, still filled with fear, seem to look at her, asking for help they will never receive.

Her daughter was a disappointment, a disgrace, like her sister before her. Weak.