Stumbling to the other side of the eating room, I hurl my guts into the dusty, tarnished wastebasket. Not literally. I threw up.
What happened? Why IS mom dead? Is Mom dead? Why would the Nexus let this happen? My mind whirls with questions, like it always does.
When I was little, I used to always say the questions I had out loud. Wherever I went, I would spout questions over and over again. Then the Nexus made me take a bunch of corrective sessions. Those worked until Mom finally got the courage to tell them to stop. I don't say my questions aloud anymore, but I still think them. If it wasn't for Mom, I might not even think on my own anymore. Mom...
I collapse onto a chair, my head in my hands. I might question a lot of things, but I do know something:
Mom is dead.
And I have to find the Nexus.
Waving my hand across the front door opener, I dash out of my house to the outside.
YOU ARE READING
Andrew
FantasyAndrew is an autistic kid faced not only with the problem of fitting in with his peers, but also with surviving a post-apocalyptic government.
