The Tumble

"Why would they do this to her?" The young boy cried alongside his even younger sister staring through the plexiglass in full spectacular display of their mother tumbling around in an enormous machine.

It's been 5 hours since she's been locked inside. The machine's whirring echoed through the chambers. She's never been the one to handle motion sickness, much less be excited on an airplane.

Her cheeks were stained with vomit, enough time to achieve a crusty-like feel. Her tears made pathways through it that seem sort of like rivers side by side amongst puke.

The sight of her kids kept her strong but that wasn't enough to hold back the food they've eaten at Denny's not much more eight hours ago.

"I don't think I can handle much more," she sounded almost as though not aware of where she was. The kids cried even harder as they heard her voice reverberate once more through the loud speaker.

What kind of sick and beautiful sight is this? For kids to see such a strong figure, their single mother, tumble like a piece of meat like something akin to mere clothing and a washer and regurgitate such nasty looking byproducts of the stomach unwillingly and helplessly.

The machine finally stopped, the painful sound of circulation no longer there. But it was too late as the mother lifelessly lied there surrounded by the unrecognizable mac and cheese her kids asked her to try and what looked like blood mixed with brown unidentifiable chunks.