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My Last Remanents

Short story By: MysticalUnicorn

THIS ISN'T EDITED. I had to do this quick tonight but wanted to post it as my last writing for 2012.

Submitted:Dec 31, 2012    Reads: 24    Comments: 4    Likes: 2   

The look on my mothers face stung at my heart. Through the pain she put me through it still nearly ripped my heart out of my chest to see her like this. Every tear that rolled down her worn cheeks were like slaps across the face. My chest hurt. I felt the panick rise as I saw the look in her eyes cast over and her face harden. She stood up and told me to get the belt. I told her no...
"Jessie. I told you to do something," My mother said. and she looked me in the eyes. She moved closer and I tried not to flinch back.
"Please Mom. Don-" And then the slap across my face wasn't from her tears but from her wrinkled dirty hand. I tried to hold back. The anger the swelled in the pit of my stomach was far too much for me to even attempt to handle. I put my hands on her shoulders trying not to grip hard. Her face dropped.
"Get your filthy hands off of me, you brat!" When i heard the words i remained calm.
"You honestly think words can hurt me now?" I said. I took a step closer.
"Is that why the look is in your eyes again? The same look you had when your father walked out on us? Jessie you can't keep acting like he is coming back. You need to get over it."
"You listen here. My Dad didn't walk out or runaway. He died." I said grinding my teeth.
"Oh, so he didn't get in that car after I asked him to stay home. I had a terrible dream the night before and I just knew something was happening. He walked out the door. HE WALKED AWAY!" My mother said spitting in my face.
"Sorry you feel guilty. Yet you act as if you aren't right now. I need you more then ever. I am only fourteen. I had to get a job at tweve years old while you were laying on the couch crinking away any emotion you could. If that isn't walking away, then what it?" I said not yelling but remaining calm. I was trying my best to keep calm.
"Get out. Don't come back," she said and she had no emotion on her face or in her faded blue, nearly gray eyes. I took a step back and tried to keep the tears from falling down my face making a wet trail, but they were coming. They wouldn't be stopping.
"I loved Mom, not Cady."
I was walking away then. I went to my room and packed a pair of clothes and reached for the trap door under my bed. I Lifted it up by the rusty, squeky handle. I picked up the object inside and put it in my bag. I put on boots and and threw on a an old leather jacket I had. It was blizzardous outside so i grabbed the thickest beanie I had. I went through the kitchen grabbing all the alcohol or pills that were in the house. My mother was already passed out on the couch from the energy it took to tell me how big a piece of crap I was. It was okay.
I went into the front yard and grabbed a lighter from my pocket. I took the remanents of my clothes which were very few and through then under the dry side of a tree. I lit them on fire. After it got going, i threw on the bottles of pills and only god would no what else. Then I pulled out the bottles of cheap whiskey and poured it over the top. As I was doing so my mother ran out of the house. Looks like I won't have much time, I thought to myself. Then I Just broke the last few of the bottles that were left on the street. Just then she was running after me, but she was so intoxicated that she began stumbling over every little pebble in her way.
Yet after years of this is still hurt to see my caring mother be at rock bottom. I can't think of her as my mother now though. She is just Cady. I sped up and soon she stopped and fell to the ground crying. I had to keep walking. Just keep going Jessie. You can't help her anymore. Even though I didn't know if it was my thought or someone elses who was just in my head, I had to take the advice and run. I am doing this for her. If I leave she will realize she has to. It was Christmas Eve. I was without anyone. Just like my mother has been for years now. I always had my father in my heart. Did she even have that anymore?
She will soon, I said to myself. I can't make her change. Or.... Could I? She changed after my father died and she wanted him. She loved him, but me?
I pulled out the 9 millimeter I had grabbed from the trapdoor I had under my bed. I remember my dad showing me where it was at if anything ever happened to me. This was the first time I had held it since then. It would also be my last. I felt a tear fall from my face. If I leave this world tonight it will wake her up. I have thought to hard as to how to wake her from the long seven year daze she has been in.
I pulled the gun to my head. I put it on my left side of the head right behind the ear.
"I love you Mom," I said and i took my last breath as I began to pull the trigger.
The last sound I heard was the boom.
The last sight I had was the big Christmas tree in the middle of town square.
The last wish I had was for my mother to be pulled out of her hole she was in.
The last memory I had was m mother, father, and I opening presents just seven years ago.
Ten years later Cady on this very day, Christmas Eve, she was driving to the cemetary where her son was burried next to his father.
She pulled out the pack of cigerettes from her purse. She began to light one up when she was getting out of the car. This was her last addiction she had. Cady hadn't taken a drink or popped a pill since that night her one and only son had burned what remained in the house. Then the wind caught her cigarette and nearly knocked it out of her hand. Instead of it falling, she threw it.
"Jessie, boy. It's Momma," She said and leaned down with her back against the headstone. "I come here every single year, yet this is the first time I had the guts to say one word. I am sorry. I am sorry I wasn't there when you needed me. I missed seven years of your preciouse like. Right now, you would be 24 years old spending Christmas with me if I hadn't made my way to rock bottom. I am sorry. I love you."
She laid there by the headstone for hours. The last time she had looked at her phone was one o'clock. It was christmas. She would be spending it with her dead son, who was right beneath her. She thought of him as the seven year old boy.


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