“I hate you!” I yelled. I couldn’t understand why my mom wouldn’t let me go to Bobbie’s party. She knows I wouldn’t do anything risky, so why not?
“Johnny! Don’t say that!” She yelled back, tears streaming down her face.
“You don’t understand anything! Why can’t you just trust me and let me go? I hate you . . .I wish you were gone!” I ran out of the kitchen and up to my room where I was away from her. I slammed the door shut and jumped into my bed yelling into my pillow. I started yelling random, hurtful things about my mom and how much I hated her. I opened my phone and dialed the number that I knew so well. Bobby answered.
“Hey, you coming or what?” I swallowed down my nerves.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a bit” I shut the phone and grabbed my jacket, climbing out the window.
When I finally got to the party, alcohol filled my senses. It was everywhere; on the tables, in people hands, even spilled all over the couches and furniture.
“Bobby!” I yelled over the loud and drumming music. People were dancing and falling over in all directions.
“Hey, I thought you’d never come!” Bobby grabbed hold of my shoulder and shook me. I held him up from falling over drunk.
“Yeah I know but I don’t think I’ll be staying-“Bobby cut me off.
“What do you mean? This party is-is” Bobby fell over onto the couch, drunk. I moved past the people and made for the door.
I walked down the street back to my house. I looked around the dark scenery still trying to get rid of the smell of alcohol on my cloths. That was the last thing I wanted my mom to know.
AS I made my way to the loud and busy intersection in the road, I saw something I couldn’t believe.
My mother lay in the middle of the dark, cement road, a pool of blood around her. I ran to her as fast as I could but it felt like slow motion.
“Mom. . .” I said, holding her in my arms. People began to make a circle around us, but I didn’t care. It was only me and my mom.
How could this happen? How did this happen? It was my fault for sure. I was the one that did this. She must have come after me but didn’t make it. I regretted everything I said to her. How I hated her, how she was horrible, how I wish she was gone.
I held her closer thinking of all the guilt I held on my shoulders and wanted her to come back; to come back to me.
“Please mom, please come back”
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Short Stories-Creative Writing Class
Short StoryHey Everyone! So these are all stories that I had to write in my Creative Writing class! I'm not looking for comments or votes on any of these stories, there just for the reader to enjoy and read. . . although it would be great to hear what you thin...
