Tony's point of view:
Six years old:
I eat my cereal while sitting on the couch in the living room.
Mom and dad enter the living room.
Mom takes a seat, and dad leans against the wall. "Sweetie, my father and I have something to tell you." Mom responds glumly.
"What is it, Mom?" I asked, my face bright with delight. Thinking it would be something fun, like going out for ice cream. What could possibly be wrong?
"Your mother and I are getting divorced." Dad spoke up. I locked my gaze on mom and dad for a few moments.
Dad walked away before I could say anything. He appeared to have been anticipating this for years. He didn't care what I thought about it. It would make no difference in either case.
I looked down at the ground, wishing this wasn't true. "Look at me, Tony." Mom says quietly as she holds my hands.
"Tony, I love you. I know you're upset right now, but we'll get through this. I promise." Mom asserted, forcing a smile.
"Why are you and dad getting a divorce?" I asked. I'm much more at ease now.
"He wasn't the right guy for me." Mom responded.
11 years later.
I'm crouching in a parking lot with my friends, hiding behind a convertible.
It's cloudy, dark, and cold outside.
"There's no one in this car, Tony." One of my friend's reclaimed.
"Say I'm not going to steal it." I kept going, giggling.
"You're not going to steal it. You're terrified." Another of my friends mentioned, as he laughs.
"All right, bet." I grinned. I stand up and look around, my friends nodding their heads to go for it.
I take a tool from my pocket to break the window, known as a window breaker.
It was successful.
When I opened the car door, there was a loud noise. When I turned around, my so-called "friends" were fleeing.
The owner returns to see what's going on. "Hey! What exactly are you doing?" the man screams.
Attempting to stop me. When I saw him, I took off like a race car.
I manage to lose sight of the man.
My "friends" and the angry man have vanished. I can't believe they ran away like that. I made an attempt to contact one of them. They did not respond.
I dashed back home, trying not to look at anyone.
Mom isn't at home. I'm wondering where she is.
I called her number several times, but it always goes to voicemail.
I looked around the house, but there was nothing.
I sat down on the couch and turned on the television.
The following was on the news:
"A crime has been committed directly behind me.
It turns out that a forty-five year-old woman was murdered.
Stabbed fifty-five times over her entire body. The police are now looking into who committed this crime.
This is a picture of a woman who is no longer with us."
YOU ARE READING
On My Own
Short StoryThe high school year has begun for fifteen-year-old Lisa Hale. She experiences bullying and false accusations. She did not feel the need to inform her mother about her school drama. She eventually falls in love with a boy, but the feelings don't en...
