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Member
Join Date: Nov 2004
Posts: 12
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The Saddened Mind
“Mama, I’m home!” he yelled, veering off of the driveway onto the short grass. “I have homework, I’m gonna go under the tree to study.”
“Ok, dear,” she yelled back at him from the kitchen.
The teenager, about 15 years old, silently walked into the backyard. His medium-cut brown hair blew in the chilly wind and his blue eyes gleamed. He went into the backyard and sat under the mighty oak that towers high above the other trees. He threw down his backpack with a thud, and sat down, back against the oak as the leaves crumpled beneath him. Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out his math notebook, and began solving the problems.
...Carry the 2, subtract 9… he thought.
An auburn leaf fell from the tall oak, and landed on his paper. He looked above him and admired the beauty of the brightly colored leaves. How beautiful, he thought. He heard a car pull up into the driveway, and his thoughts of nature’s beauty vanished. It was a yellow Corvette. He squinted, and saw a silhouette calmly walk up to the door and ring the doorbell. He thought nothing of it, and went back to his studies.
After several moments, an ear-shattering noise pierced the air around him. His eyes widened. The noise was a gunshot, coming from his house. He sat in shock as he saw the same silhouette run from the house and speed away in the sporty car.
He was motionless. Breathless. Awe-stricken. After several minutes, he had analyzed what had happened. With a burst, he jumped up and sped toward the white, two story house with a steaming chimney. Everything around him was at a standstill. Slamming open the door, he began search the room his mother would most likely be in. He first looked in the kitchen, where his mother had been preparing his after-school snack; he found nothing. He sped to the living room, and found, once more, nothing.
He dashed up the stairs and into his room. There lay a tipped over laundry basket, and once folded clothes were scattered nearby. Turning his gaze to the right of the room, he saw her. Blood was scattered about her, and her motionless body was face down on the hardwood floor. His lungs collapsed, and he stood frozen, tears trickling down his reddened cheeks.
“Mama…” he managed to whisper.
***
For Jake, graduation day wasn’t so great. His mother wasn’t there to watch him receive his high school diploma – none of his family was there. He grimly walked across the stage, received his diploma, and walked off. Jake didn’t stay; he got into his Green Pinto, and started the engine. He began to cry, and his tears trickled down into his mouth, leaving a salty taste. He wiped away his tears and drove away.
Later that night, he cried while lying in bed. He remembered her body, the exact position, the crimson blood scattered across the floor, and hole in the back of her head as it oozed what little blood was left. He graduated high school with honors today, and no one saw him; no one important, anyways.
He drew in a breath, and sat up from his bed. He got up, and silently crept through the hallway and into the living room. He grabbed the keys from the key holder, and opened the creaky door. He quietly shut the door so that he did not wake his foster parents. Jake walked across the wet, dew-covered grass to the shed. He picked through the keys, found the right one, and unlocked the shed. He spotted the ladder, grabbed it, then went under the tree and stood it up. He went back to the small, wooden shed. He began rummaging through the mess of gardening supplies and tools. After several minutes, he finally found a rope.
Jake sighed a sad, hopeless sigh as he walked back to the tree the ladder was under. He then climbed the metal ladder, his shoes squeaking from the wetness on them. He hoisted his leg over a branch rather high from the ground and kicked down the ladder. He tied the rope around the large, sturdy branch, then made a loop and slipped his slender neck into it. His eyes, now a grayish color, let loose a tear that slithered down his cheek glimmered in the moonlight.
“Damn that person,” he whimpered. “Damn everyone.”
He let himself fall from the branch; the loop tightened, leaving his lifeless body dangling in the warm summer breeze.
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Young Writer in Progress (age 13)
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