CCTV
There are two women, one young, one old, inside the kitchen – let’s call the young one Scylla, the old Charybdis. Their real names don’t matter. They’re monsters, after all.
It’s a dark room with a low roof, two small windows set deep into a stone wall. Scylla stands at a Rayburn stove, stirring a pot. Charybdis sits at a table made from rough wood. She is weeping, her face contorted, picking at the skin on her arms. They are both very thin.
Scylla brings the pot to the table and ladles out its steaming contents. Plant matter sticks out from the top of the bowls, which looks like nettles. The liquid slops over the sides of the bowl as she pours it.
She puts her hand on Charybdis’s arm, strokes it. She then picks up her spoon and brings it to her lips, which pucker as if the contents are sour. She gestures to Charybdis, bringing her spoon up and down to her face as if to say, Eat up.
Charybdis pushes the bowl away, hard enough to spill the contents on to the table. She starts banging her head on the table, a rhythmic movement. Scylla stands up and attempts to restrain her, but Charybdis slaps her in the face. Scylla’s head snaps back and forward.
She sits down. Scylla is crying now too. There is a dark mark on her cheek.