Monday, April 24, 2006Maybe it was because of dad. My dad died a week ago and we haven't (and will not) forget that emptiness at the dinner table. That closeness when he kissed us goodnight. But he was found in our alley with a bullet through his head and a dagger through his heart. I remember walking home from school that day, with all of the cops rushing past me. I thought that maybe someone down the block had been hurt. I never thought that it could have happened to me. Mama forgot about everything that day. My soccer, my dance, my piano. She just lay in bed and hugged me tight. Sometimes movements mean more than words. Then I began to see less and less of her. She would always be in meetings. Usually either my father or my mother were at home with me. But that changed. My mother now needed a full time job to support us and keep our house. She began to arrive home exhausted and short tempered. She would stomp off to her room. She never had time for me anymore. If I was being too loud she might close the door... But never like this! A faint sobbing came from her room. I opened the door and peered in. She lay in a clump on the bed. I looked around and saw clothes strewn over furniture and on the floor. A few dishes were piled on the counter of her desk. Her new computer had found a place to spread its bulk under the desk. I walked to the bed, crawled on, and gave her an incredibly tight hug.
Invented by: ENIGMADAN at 7:39 PM
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1 Comments:
Daniel, I really like the story you have written in response to the poem "Hanging Fire". I think that it is a very well thought scenario that seems very that it could very well be the cause of all the sorrow that she is going through. I think that you have written a good amount, and I think that other people also need to write this much. I think that your story is very creative.
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