Post by behindTHEmask on Dec 6, 2004 19:05:15 GMT -8
Think about this, you're five years old and your mother dies in a car accident right before your eyes. Would you be ready for it? Could you say good-bye?
You're fourteen, and your mother is shot at her work because it was a hold up. Could you step foot in that facility again? Would you feel that she knows you love her? Would you be ready for it? Could you say good-bye?
You're twenty-one and your mother's plane crashes on her way back home from vacation. Would you fly again? Would you be ready for it? Could you say good-bye?
You're forty, and your mother dies of old age. You try and talk yourself into it being her time, but is ever really an exception for death? Would you be ready for it? Could you say good-bye?
No matter what the age, no matter the cause, not even forever would make you ready. Be thankful. Say the words you're embarassed to say in public. Say I love you.
The embers slowly faded out as the water splashed them. My innocent eyes were full of tears. Before me, the life of a loved one was stolen. My protectors were murdered by someone’s wrong decision—someone’s choices—they are what took away mommy.
“Mommy, Kris is hitting me!” I was whining. Not because he hurt me either, he ignored me. All I wanted was for him to look at me so I could show him my picture. How hard was that? I drew a picture, I should be acknowledged for it.
“She’s lying!” His voice bellowed as he yanked the headphones off his ears. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at me. I smiled childishly—ear to ear.
“Settle down you two. Don’t make me stop the car.” Mommy looked back at us through the rearview mirror. Her brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She looked so pretty in that shirt. It was blue, just like her eyes. “Remember, the quietest gets ice cream.”<br>
I smiled, sinking into the plush backseat of the Tahoe. “I scream, you scream,” I whispered, “we all scream for ice cream.”<br>
We were being good. All we were doing was joking around, but mommy didn’t understand. I looked at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes, they looked old. The twinkle they held wasn’t there. Bags fell under them, letting them resemble Kris’ eye the time I hit him—full of pain. She squinted every now and again, like she had a headache. I hope we didn’t cause it. I hate hurting mommy.
“Mommy!” I was panicking. The wheels of the car slid across the pavement. Quickly, I shut my eyes, pulling my knees close to my chest. Kris’ CD player flew across the back seat. This was bad, real bad.
Mommy didn’t answer my call to her. She didn’t say a word. Her body didn’t move, and I couldn’t hear her breathing. I couldn’t hear anything beside the sound of metal colliding. I wanted to go home.
When I opened my eyes, a man with a yellow mask was carrying me to a bed. It wasn’t very warm—or soft. The white sheets got dirty when he set me down. Mommy must have forgotten to give me a bath. Oh well, she could give me one when we got home. Nice and hot, with bubbles, but not to hot—just enough to soothe my skin.
I sat up, looking around at everyone moving. Back and forth, back and forth. What was so amazing about that fire? I’m five and I’m cute, look at me, or at least tell me where my mommy is. It’s rude to make a five year old find her all by herself.
I couldn’t help it. I was growing impatient. What was I suppose to do? I couldn’t sit still. It was impossible, or at least highly unlikely for me to do so. I had to take matters of finding mommy into my own hands. My own little hands—only a quarter of the size of mommy. Her hands were always soft. So soft, so delicate.
I hopped off the bed they had put me on. I felt tiny looking up at all these big men. It was as though I was an ant staring up at myself. They had muscles just like Hercules; strong and brave. My little feet let me weave easily through the big men. They didn’t even take notice in me wandering around by myself. They should be ashamed. Especially if one of them stepped on me. I’d be crushed!
My big blue eyes blinked rapidly as I looked in each direction. A big group of yellow suited men gathered in one direction; a big group of blue in the other. I wondered which one knew where mommy was. I folded my little arms across my chest, deciding who I should ask. Blue—the colors my favorite, and the color of mommy’s eyes.
They were too busy to take notice, so I waited, standing on my tiptoes to see all of the commotion. A woman lay on the ground. Her blue shirt was covered in blood and soot. That was a pretty shirt. Her brown hair reminded me of mommy. So silky and shiny. I wanted to touch it—I had to touch it.
A blue man grabbed my hand. His eyes shifted as he focused on me, and without saying a word, he picked me up and carried me away. I tried squirming out of his grip, but his big strong arms kept a hold on me. I sighed, figuring I should ask him my questioned that I wanted answered. “Do you know where my mommy is?”<br>
No one ever did answer my question, but my eyes revealed their own truth. The blue shirt, the brown hair, it was all hers. The fingers, the skin; everything. It all belonged to her. I didn’t know what to feel besides sadness, and maybe anger towards myself. I did cause mommy so much grief. She told me to stop, but I didn’t listen, and now it’s too late. I can’t say I’m sorry. I can’t say I love her, all I can do is watch the fire fade away and my mommy exit to the beyond.
You're fourteen, and your mother is shot at her work because it was a hold up. Could you step foot in that facility again? Would you feel that she knows you love her? Would you be ready for it? Could you say good-bye?
You're twenty-one and your mother's plane crashes on her way back home from vacation. Would you fly again? Would you be ready for it? Could you say good-bye?
You're forty, and your mother dies of old age. You try and talk yourself into it being her time, but is ever really an exception for death? Would you be ready for it? Could you say good-bye?
No matter what the age, no matter the cause, not even forever would make you ready. Be thankful. Say the words you're embarassed to say in public. Say I love you.
The embers slowly faded out as the water splashed them. My innocent eyes were full of tears. Before me, the life of a loved one was stolen. My protectors were murdered by someone’s wrong decision—someone’s choices—they are what took away mommy.
“Mommy, Kris is hitting me!” I was whining. Not because he hurt me either, he ignored me. All I wanted was for him to look at me so I could show him my picture. How hard was that? I drew a picture, I should be acknowledged for it.
“She’s lying!” His voice bellowed as he yanked the headphones off his ears. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at me. I smiled childishly—ear to ear.
“Settle down you two. Don’t make me stop the car.” Mommy looked back at us through the rearview mirror. Her brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She looked so pretty in that shirt. It was blue, just like her eyes. “Remember, the quietest gets ice cream.”<br>
I smiled, sinking into the plush backseat of the Tahoe. “I scream, you scream,” I whispered, “we all scream for ice cream.”<br>
We were being good. All we were doing was joking around, but mommy didn’t understand. I looked at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes, they looked old. The twinkle they held wasn’t there. Bags fell under them, letting them resemble Kris’ eye the time I hit him—full of pain. She squinted every now and again, like she had a headache. I hope we didn’t cause it. I hate hurting mommy.
“Mommy!” I was panicking. The wheels of the car slid across the pavement. Quickly, I shut my eyes, pulling my knees close to my chest. Kris’ CD player flew across the back seat. This was bad, real bad.
Mommy didn’t answer my call to her. She didn’t say a word. Her body didn’t move, and I couldn’t hear her breathing. I couldn’t hear anything beside the sound of metal colliding. I wanted to go home.
When I opened my eyes, a man with a yellow mask was carrying me to a bed. It wasn’t very warm—or soft. The white sheets got dirty when he set me down. Mommy must have forgotten to give me a bath. Oh well, she could give me one when we got home. Nice and hot, with bubbles, but not to hot—just enough to soothe my skin.
I sat up, looking around at everyone moving. Back and forth, back and forth. What was so amazing about that fire? I’m five and I’m cute, look at me, or at least tell me where my mommy is. It’s rude to make a five year old find her all by herself.
I couldn’t help it. I was growing impatient. What was I suppose to do? I couldn’t sit still. It was impossible, or at least highly unlikely for me to do so. I had to take matters of finding mommy into my own hands. My own little hands—only a quarter of the size of mommy. Her hands were always soft. So soft, so delicate.
I hopped off the bed they had put me on. I felt tiny looking up at all these big men. It was as though I was an ant staring up at myself. They had muscles just like Hercules; strong and brave. My little feet let me weave easily through the big men. They didn’t even take notice in me wandering around by myself. They should be ashamed. Especially if one of them stepped on me. I’d be crushed!
My big blue eyes blinked rapidly as I looked in each direction. A big group of yellow suited men gathered in one direction; a big group of blue in the other. I wondered which one knew where mommy was. I folded my little arms across my chest, deciding who I should ask. Blue—the colors my favorite, and the color of mommy’s eyes.
They were too busy to take notice, so I waited, standing on my tiptoes to see all of the commotion. A woman lay on the ground. Her blue shirt was covered in blood and soot. That was a pretty shirt. Her brown hair reminded me of mommy. So silky and shiny. I wanted to touch it—I had to touch it.
A blue man grabbed my hand. His eyes shifted as he focused on me, and without saying a word, he picked me up and carried me away. I tried squirming out of his grip, but his big strong arms kept a hold on me. I sighed, figuring I should ask him my questioned that I wanted answered. “Do you know where my mommy is?”<br>
No one ever did answer my question, but my eyes revealed their own truth. The blue shirt, the brown hair, it was all hers. The fingers, the skin; everything. It all belonged to her. I didn’t know what to feel besides sadness, and maybe anger towards myself. I did cause mommy so much grief. She told me to stop, but I didn’t listen, and now it’s too late. I can’t say I’m sorry. I can’t say I love her, all I can do is watch the fire fade away and my mommy exit to the beyond.
I really do feel a small hint of tears....so emotional.