Five years ago I witnessed a murder. Or I guess I should say it was almost a murder. My mom was a drug addicted. She’s all better now, but long ago before she got helped she used to bring scary people to our apartment. They would go into her room and lock the door and stay in there for hours. I would just sit in the living room and watch cartoons and eat grilled cheese sandwiches with my stuffed cat. When she would come out of the room she would have a bandage on her arm and she would act really funny. Sometimes the scary people would stay other times they would go and come back the next day. I love my mom so much, but she would sometimes leave me in my room alone for hours if she had significant people over. One time she locked me in there for two days, but let me remind …show more content…
I did it!” I screamed with joy. “But, now we have to get out of here okay? I know a place where we can go. A place where I can get better. But, we have to go now,” said mom with a serious face. “Ok mom I’ll go pack my bag and we can go!” That was the last time we ever saw any bad, scary people. Mom took us to this big old house with many rooms. There were other people there too, but they are all really nice. We’ve been there for five years now. “Violet, sweetheart it’s time for bed,” mom said calmly as she climbed into bed and under the covers. “Ok mom,” I said as I got in bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow I fell into a deep sleep of vivid dreams. “Violet. Violet! Hello Violet it’s time for breakfast,” said an unfamiliar voice. I sat up and looked around and my mom was gone. “Where’s mom? Did she already get up to get food?” I said confused as I stretched out my arms. “Violet sweety… not again.” “What?” I said not knowing what the lady was talking about. “I want to know where she is, that a crime?” I said laughing. “No but seriously, where is she?” “Violet your mom is dead… remember you killed her.” “What? You’re crazy!” That’s when everything started to come back to
The living room was dark and the only thing you could see was the brightness of the TV. Also, I could still hear many people talking from down stairs, fire truck siren going off, and the city lights that were still shining bright. At the age of seven, on a cold Friday night in Brooklyn; my mom, cousin, and I started watching some scary movies since it was around Halloween. There was this movie called “Child’s Play” and as a child, I didn’t like the movie at all due to the fact that there was an ugly doll that was moving and killing people. During, that weekend it was showing marathons all weekend long since it was the Halloween weekend. The bed was pulled out with all the warm blankets and snacks besides us waiting for the move to start.
It was enough for any mom to have a nervous breakdown. All Marilyn remembered was her mother being in and out of hospitals. Marilyn’s mother was working long hours at the film lab just to make ends meet. She became very tired and nervous; life became difficult for her. She had been sent to the Norwalk State hospital for Mental Diseases for a rest when Marilyn was only five years old.
“Could you go get your mom?” I cried, “I can’t handle this anymore, we need to go to the hospital.”
In the process of reading chapter two, I immediately thought back two years ago. I had the worst Stressor. I've had in my only 16 years of living. My great grandmother, who I lived with along with my mother, my whole life. She passed from stomach cancer. September 14 2013, I remember getting out of the shower with a smile on my face, and my grandmother casually walking in and said "Granny died at 2:34 this morning. I'm going to Chicago and I'll come back the day before the funeral. " My family works in the funeral industry but we do not own a funeral home and we have never buried such a close family member of ours. With my Step father and my mother losing their minds, and my little sister not knowing how to process this and my aunt just down right disappearing, I had to handle this. I was 14 at the time and I was calling on older friends to take me to the bank, finishing arrangements, picking clothes, doing the memorial video and the catering because none of my family offered to cook. I was panicking and literally running from place to place because I was trying to get things done. I was eating more and sleeping less, and from
She recognized the greeting of which had come from her mom. Before the cold girl replied, she stretched out her frozen-stiff legs one at a time, though still on the weaved doormat. “Hmm, nothing much.” Alyssa answered her ‘dinner-busy’ mother with an easy white lie.
When I walked out of the door of my trailer home I just wanted to run and keep running. I didn't want to look back and see my mother throwing random stuff from the house at me. She blamed me for everything wrong in her life from her unwanted pregnancy to my father leaving us at the age of nine. He wasn't the best, he ignored me like I wasn't there and hit my mother when he got the feeling. Then he just decided he couldn't handle us anymore and just left with out saying an-ything.
Why have I chosen this particular topic to write about? Why do I and others think the way we do? What drives people's behavior? Do our experiences alter our thought processes? These types of questions, are the types of questions that I ask myself everyday. A teacher of mine, Ms. Beller, told me once that we make up to 30,000 decisions each and every day. Those decisions may help determine how our day will play out or how we may react.
The More Not The Merrier “Mama…. Where are you?” I whimpered. No response. As I stared at my feet, tears rolled down my cheeks and onto the floor.
Carly and her mom got to their condo and Carly saw an amazing view. The room was decently clean, with a carpet in the middle in the room, two beds separated by a small dresser with a lamp on top. Carly faced her bed and hopped onto it without hesitation. Carly was exhausted from the traveling and wanted to go to sleep on the spot. She then thought about what her new school would be like.
Too late. I could already hear my mothers graceful footsteps ascend the stairs. She carefully opened the door that entered my kitchen, and I flung myself into her arms. My mother yelped with shock and a hint of exhaustion, “Meggie honey, Mommy is very tired. Please be a little more careful next time.”
“My brother did not die in a car crash. My brother was murdered.” “Mr. Sting, that’s why we are here, to help you accept that your brother died of an unfortunate accident. Your brother was in a horrible car crash and died on impact.”
We only notice the important things in life when they are gone, when the wound left by them hurts so deeply and so consistently that it cannot be called anything less than torture. A mothers love is unique, it cannot be replicated, nor can it be forgotten but it can be served to cause the most horrendous pain know to man, a wound as terrifying as its maker, a wound of loss. My mothers love, her presence, her lessons and her memory, once my source of strength, was perverted and turned upon me through the slow and painful process that was my mothers death. At first, I felt that this wound, the wound of loss, could not last much longer, that the constant pain of memories would stop plaguing me every waking hour and every sleeping moment. I was
I am Jennifer Karina Vargas the daughter of Maria Rosa Solis Hernandez and Jauri Vargas. All my life I have lived with both my parents and my two younger brother which are Christian Vargas and Enrique Vargas. Being the first child, I have seen all the sacrifice my parents have done to keep our family untied and strong. Especially my mother because she is the one that is always aware of everything going on with us. For example, she is constantly reminding us about how important it is to take care of ourselves, she always remembers our doctors’ appointments when everyone else forgets, or any important date.
You must not tell anyone what I am about to tell you. This very secret can turn your life around, upside down, and inside out. You can never mention it to anyone or anything. It is for your own knowledge and no one else--not even your best friend or partner. I witnessed a murder years ago in my teenage years.
Sometimes it is all I can think about. It is all I want, all I need. The feeling of euphoria it gives me is incredible. If you are wondering what I am talking about I will explain, but be warned this may not be to your liking.