Hilda, the red tornado, woke up late for work again. Her parents were black, but she was born with bright red hair and ashen skin. She was a wonder. Her father left them because he thought she wasn’t his, even though DNA had proven her to be his. Hilda resented her mother, and her temper would flare like the colour of her hair. Hence the nickname that has clung to her since the 3^rd grade.

“Hilda! You’re late already!” called out Zanele from the kitchen. Hilda’s mom always made sure that she woke up early every day and made breakfast for her two daughters without fail. There were days when she couldn’t get out of bed, but her fondness would force her to leave. This caused her to have grey hairs and wrinkles in her thirties, but her beauty was the least of her worries.

Hilda stumbled out of bed and started rummaging through her wardrobe to find something to wear. “This will do, but I didn’t check the weather today.” She ran to her window to peek, which was her daily ritual. “It’s cloudy again. Jeans and a sweater it is.” Hilda then tugged at a black scarf hanging from her closet drawer. She covered her unkempt hair with it.

“Why are you yelling, Zanele?” growled Hilda as she came running out of her room with one shoe and sock.

“Hilda, I am your mother. Not Zanele.” She sighed. It was the same story every morning.

“Your identity document begs to differ!” Hilda glimpsed at her mother’s tearful brown eyes. Zanele could never catch a break when Hilda was in the house. She took the abuse and would tell worried neighbours to leave them be. It wasn’t any of their business.

“You’re late for work, and you broke my fancy glasses yesterday when you returned from the tavern. I need you to replace them.” Zanele’s voice was cracking with each word uttered.

“Replace them? With what money?” Hilda barely helped with anything in the house and would demand money from her mother on several occasions to help feed her alcoholism.

“The money you always use to buy alcohol and never anything for us.”

“It’s my money, and I can do whatever I want with it except buy those glasses. They were ugly anyway. How can you call such an ugly thing ‘fancy’?” Hilda smirked. She broke those glasses intentionally.

“Hilda! Stop it!” A squirmy voice shouted from behind her. It came from Lily, the younger sister. “Why can’t you just close your mouth for once? It won’t kill you.”

“The baconer speaks,” blurted Hilda. Lily, five years younger than Hilda, was short and slightly plump. Hilda teased her all the time. It was also a way to shut her up during arguments with her mother.

“The little piggy is sucking up to its owner.” She smacked her lips and pulled a chair to sit down.

“Hilda! Why are you so cruel?” pleaded her mother, who was now standing with her arms folded.

“Have you ever defended me when people called me names or bullied me? Not even once, and you’re asking me why I am so cruel!”

“Hilda….I could only do so much from where I was. How was I supposed to protect you from people when they called you a fire puff in the streets?”

“Fire puff?! Why are you calling me that?” Hilda stood up from the chair and charged towards her mother. “I am not a fire puff!”

Lily tried to squeeze herself in between them, and they shoved her by mistake. Her head hit the corner of the table. Hilda and her mother immediately apologised. Hilda looked at the grandfather clock on the wall and realised she had five minutes left to catch the bus. She sprinted out the front door.