Free The End of the World by Andrew Biss

head in my hands and groaned. I thought she’d be smothering me with hugs, desperate to know the state of my well-being, not to mention wracked with guilt at having banished me from home, only to discover I’d been forced to endure the strange and unsavoury environment that was The End of the World. Instead, she seemed oblivious to my condition and was already referring to this place as home.
    “And what about Mrs. Anna?” she continued. “Isn’t she a find? A little churlish I suppose, but with her job who wouldn’t be? Overall she seems like an absolute dream.”
    “It all seems like a dream,” I said. “A very, very bad one.”
    For whatever reason she suddenly seemed far more cognisant of my existence, quickly gliding across the room and sitting herself down next to me.
    “Oh dear, what’s wrong, darling?” she said, placing her arm around me. “Is it all the excitement? Is it your tummy – your diarrhoea?”
    “No it isn’t,” I said, sharply.
    “Well something’s thrown you out of sorts. Is it a cold? A headache?”
    “No.”
    “Oh dear, don’t tell me it’s something…” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “Is it something sexual? Did someone give you something you weren’t quite expecting?”
    “No they did not!” I said, offended by the very suggestion.
    “Because if they did I don’t want you to feel the least bit ashamed. Some of the nicest people I know pick up a little something every now and then. It’s just a part of life.”
    “It’s not life! It’s got nothing to do with life. In fact–”
    “And I am your mother, after all. If you can’t talk to me about these things who can you talk to?”
    “A doctor?” I retorted.
    “And I’ve heard it all, so I shan’t be shocked. So what is it? Little red sores? A funny feeling when you pee pee? Uninvited guests down there ?” 
    “ No! No, it’s nothing like that! Nothing. It’s something worse. Much worse. You see…”
    But her attention had already been hijacked by her handbag, which she proceeded to dig through with steely determination. “Yes?” she said, still pretending to listen.
    “Mother…Mother, look at me,” I implored.
    “I’m looking, darling, I’m looking,” she insisted, as she retrieved a black lacquered compact from the jumbled folderol inside her bag.
    “No you’re not.”
    She opened the compact, still maintaining her façade of attentiveness. “I am, I am, I…oh damn, where’s the mirror? It must’ve fallen out. Never mind, you’ll just have to guide me.”
    By now I realised she was in no fit state to receive the dreadful news I was about to impart. Somehow I had to try and bring her back down to earth, surmising that the shock would be less jarring if she were in a more sober frame of mind.
    “Mother, what I am about to say to you is going to put a terrible strain upon your emotional coping system.”
    “How’s this?” she asked, as she applied the compact pad to her face. “Am I more or less on target?”
    Clearly, this wasn’t going to be easy, but I remained resolute. “You’re going to have to be very brave and to try to absorb this as best you can without resorting to hysterics or outbursts,” I instructed, as solemnly as possible.
    “Oh no! Oh, damn, damn, and damn it all!” she suddenly cried.
    “What? What is it?”
    “I think I just smudged my lipstick. Did I?”
    “No, you didn’t,” I sighed.
    “Oh, thank God! Imagine trying to fix that without a mirror – I’d end up looking like The Joker,” she joked.
    “Mother, I need you to be serious for a moment. I need you to be as calm and logical as you possibly can, for what I have to tell you is something I am only now beginning to fully come to terms with myself.”
    She leaned in towards me and moved her face from side to side. “How’s that – do I pass muster?”
    By now I was beginning to lose patience. “All except the shiny nose,” I said, testily.
    “Oh!” she shrieked, as she