I often sit by myself, in my room, all alone. Occasionally thoughts of reality fill my head, they terrify me. My tablet light is all that alights the darkened room, and I find it more comforting than sunshine. I would expect people to think of me as crazy or anti-social to hide in a bedroom all day; the truth is I am. My fingers double tap a glass screen to show my "like" for a photo or a post. This was my life, this is my life. All my friends stop texting me, yet total strangers I've met on Instagram spam me with messages. My long, un-controllable hair rests on my shoulders. The damn humidity is why I looked like a rats nest most of the time. It needed to change.
My feet dragged as I walked, my posture slouching. My iPad is still in my hands, there is now way I could leave it, and my friends behind. Somehow, foot after foot, I am carried to my mom's room. My eyes glance at her, what I called "Satan's best friend" or better known as the unusual creature that gave birth to me. Her demonic eyes looks at me for a single second, before returning to the smart phone in her hands. Her voice sometimes reminded me of a snake, poised to bite.
"Gwen, you look like you haven't bathed in a week"
I sighed and whispered "because I haven't"
My mother's eyes return back to me, it felt like they were burning holes into my soul.
"You filthy creature!"
Mom's are supposed to be loving and caring, someone to help you at all times. Well the satanic "thing" that owns me is nothing like that.
"You will take a bath before you talk to me again"
"Yes Mom" I say, rolling my eyes
A sigh of disappointment exits my mouth, and I turn on my heel and trudge to the bathroom.
