Image prompt: Magpie Tales


Perfect mother, perfect child! That is what they call us, Mother and me. We can do no wrong. And, to make sure of that, they have given us these ugly crowns that sit so heavy on our heads. 

It had appeared to be such an innocent game! ‘You are perfect, a goddess,’ they said.

They could do nothing right, so they made sure she bore the burden of their failings and could do nothing wrong. To be good and right and all things nice became her responsibility. She was too young, too eager to please, too naïve to understand the trap they had cleverly laid. She would pay heavily for that, her real mistake. 

Unknowingly, she became a victim of their demands and aspirations. She, in turn, unwittingly made me, her only child, an unwilling partner and casualty in this charade.   

How I wish this was a game she had never played! Slowly but surely, the mask thrust upon her became her real face. The others pretended to be dumb; they were too smart to acknowledge what they could clearly see – the warm person struggling to break free behind that cold, perfect visage.   

Come on Mother, let’s make our escape. 

But I know it is now too late.