This is a short list submission for the YOUTH Award This Way by Sherry Landow We skin the bed, my mother and I, stripping away the stains of the week which I pretend not to notice. This has become our Sunday ritual, our absolution process. I take the pillowcases off and throw them in the corner of the room while she pulls apart the sheets. No good no more, she lays them aside. Sitting on the floor at the end of the bed is a fresh pile of linen, ready to cover the mattress. Naked, the bed looks jaundiced and stale against the wall of their large room; like the once-white ageing sheets kept at the back of the cupboard. She hands me the top corner as I wedge …