Short Stories

Tip of the Iceberg

"I can't believe you can be this selfish," the familiar voice rang through the room, "After everything I've done for you."

The male said nothing, a sigh escaping his lips as he heard the words dripping from her lips.

"I've sacrificed so much for you, why can't you do this one thing for me?" The woman, his mother, asked, resorting to guilt tripping.

"This is my own life, my life is not yours to control," he said in a bland tone, putting his pencil down.

"I raised you, I took care of you, I gave you food, a home, clothes, money, I have wasted my life on you, and you won't even do this one thing for me? Listen to your mother."

He wished there was a way to avoid this conversation. "I understand that, but it just doesn't seem right to me, it's not what I wanna do, it's not where I wanna go in my life."

"If you do go down this path, you are not welcomed here, anymore," she threatened him, for what seemed the millionth time.

"I never saw this place as a home anyway," he said, then added, "Can we not talk about this right now? I haven't even finished homework."

"We need to talk about this now," she frowned.

"You can't tell me how to live my life, anymore, mom," he said in exasperation, though he knew she thought she controlled his actions till he died.

"If you go, then you can do what you want, part time," the mother suggested.

"That won't be able to work, it's full time." With that, the conversation ended. For now, at least.