I hate my mother.
I hate her with all my heart, so I told her.She said that I was a spoil brat. I told her I didn’t love her and that she should die. My mother and I came fighting for an hour or so until my father came home. He calm me down and sent me to my room. He then got in a fight with my mother. He left quickly after, to the bar I assume. I came out of my room to tell my mother for the last time that she was wrong and that everyone would be better if was dead. She then slapped me, but she didn’t just stop at one she proceed to hit me til I bleed. I simply said nothing and went to my room.
She died the next day.
At the funeral my father was drunk enough to not be sad and sober enough to hit on the widows at the funeral home.
I in the other hand was fine, but no one thought so. I hate when people pretend to be a doctor and assume they know what’s your problem, more so when there isn’t one. Everyone kept saying how great a person my mother was and that she was taken too soon.
I kept in my head that no one really knew this cunt better then me. I kept it in my head that they never really knew her. I kept it in my head that they are only here to pay respects to a bitch that none of them even care about.
I kept it in my head that I killed her.
An ice-cream truck drove by once. I never had vanilla before, but I didn’t have any money. I went around my house collecting loose change.I ran out to the truck as soon as I had enough. I got a small vanilla cone, but just before I got home. The truck ran me over. I never did get to eat any of the ice cream.