MisfitNovaBee
I wasn't very old when my mother died. I remember what she looked like, but other than that I had no memories of her. My big brother tells me stories of her, of how she loved both of us dearly, and how she was very protective over us. Father tells us that we'll never go without a mother; now he hires maids to clean and watch over us.
I remember that it was really snowy on the day mommy died, and we left school early. In the rush to get home, I had forgotten my teddy bear at school. I was like most kids, carrying my favorite stuffed animal with me everywhere. But I was different too. If my teddy wasn't by my side, I would start bawling my eyes out, and I wouldn't eat nor sleep. Naturally, my loving mother had taken me back to school to get it. But the roads were slippery, and it made us crash on the way home. I don't like to remember the crash. I don't like to remember the red stuff that was everywhere. I don't like to remember the pain I felt. I don't like remembering mommy's scream.