My Evil Mother: A Short Story

From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born at Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained for several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother's tender

short story by Dino Buzzati, one of the ones that struck such a chord in me as a teenager, called “Poor Little Boy,” about an ungrateful, malicious, sad little boy like Maxime Ribotton. He’s in a park with his mother, all the other kids make fun of him, bully him, humiliate him, push him away when he wants to play. At the end a lady says to his mot

They were trying to make things better. But it can put a lot of pressure on a person to be told they need to be strong.

It was hard to tell if Father loved her. Often, it seemed that all he cared about was whether or not he could mould her into something pretty and agreeable, a present to be given away to some other man.

My mother is my enemy.