There are only three parts in this story, as it is pretty short. I hope you enjoy!
This is my first story on here, so you can tell I'm pretty new to this.
Breath, CC12, breath.
Okay, here goes.
-------------------
Mama went out last Sunday, to protest the way everyone has been treating the blacks around here. She wouldn't let me go, ad I was mad because of that. But that doesn't matter now. What matters is that it is Tuesday, and Mama still hasn't come home from the day she left me sitting on the front stoop, Sunday March 7th, 1965, as I yelled at her for not letting me go along with her. That Sunday morning after church, I had tried to make her let me go, but it was to no avail.
"Mama! Please? I can help carry your things, or I could hold the sign you made! Anything!"
"I don't know," Mama replied, but by the tone of her voice, I could tell she did know, and the answer wouldn't be to my liking.
"But-"
"It could be...dangerous, dear. Just stay here. I'll be back in a couple days. Ms. Smith is across the street if you need anything, you know that, right?"
Ew, Mrs. Smith always smelled like burnt cookies and old, moldy cauliflower. Don't ask.
"Yes, Mama. But, can't I go to help out? What could be so dangerous? Nothing will happen!"
Mama smirked. "And when did you become a little fortune teller?" She ruffled my hair. I HATE when people my touch my hair. Hair like this doesn't take 5 seconds to fix. More like 15 minutes.
Mama was staring at me, thinking. My hopes were rising and I began to think about what to pack.
"My final answer would be..."
My heart was racing. There was so much to get together in so little time!
"...no, you can't go. It's 50 miles from Selma to Montgomery. That's too far for you. Now don't you talk back to me. Be a good boy, and don't forget to brush your teeth and eat your vegetables. Oh, and always remember, I love you no matter what."
"Sure you do. If you really loved me, you wouldn't be leaving me here, all alone. You know what!? I'm glad you're leaving!"
---------------
Hey! What do you think? Is this a good way to end the chapter? What do you think about the short story so far?
The next part will come soon. Happy (early) Thanksgiving!
YOU ARE READING
Last Sunday
Historical FictionThis is a short story I had to write for school awhile back. I decided to put it on here to see how it does. Last Sunday is a historical fiction story about a young boy living in the 1960's, living with just his mother, as his father died yeas ago...
