Categories > Original > Horror > The Runaway
My mother just asked me have I gone crazy.
I said "Maybe, I doubt it. Why?"
She replied "Well you spend all of your damn time in your room, which doesn't bother me; what does bother me is that there is either dead silence or fatal noise up in that attic. And you've changed your favorite colors."
I was confused on the latter statement.
I answered with "I didn't know I changed my favorite colors, you would think I would be the first to know because..."
She interrupted me and screamed "Don't play dumb! Your new favorite colors are: red, red and more fucking red! All you do nowadays is drink, eat, think, or talk fucking red! I know you got that red dye I told you not to get. Is that why you're always wearing those damn latex gloves all the fucking time!?"
I looked at my gloved hands, if you examined them hard enough you could see the tiny specks of red dye that refuses to be scrubbed the fuck away.
I returned my gazed back towards my mother and looked her dead in the eye and stated in an oddly calm voice, "Leave. Me. Alone."
I turned on my heels and walked away towards my room. It took my mother about two seconds longer than it would have normally taken to react, maybe it was because she couldn't believe I just said that?
"You get your ass back here!" She paused for a instance and then began following me. "You know what?" She continued as I was closing in on the stairs leading to my room. "I'll leave you alone! I'll leave your ass alone on the fucking streets where death will become your only damn company!!"
With that statement unlike any other I've heard pass between the delicate, soft lips of my once sweet and loving mother, I froze in mid-step with my mother just an arm's length away from me. I shoved my left hand deep into the left pocket of my coat and found my scissors. As I felt the rage quickly boil inside my body, I clutched the scissors with all of the strength in my hand.
One second I began to make a 90 turn on my right heel; the next second all I could see was red and there was a sound that amused me quite a bit. It was the sound of a sack of potatoes-good Idaho potatoes-falling to the ground; the sound was solid. I could not help the laughter rising from my core, destroying all of the rage with it.
My brother must have wanted to know what was so funny-the fights me and my now bloody mother had usually ended in me slamming my bedroom door in her face which marked the beginning of her night long crying-because he appeared in front of me with a great smile that was wiped away the second after he processed the scene before him.
The second after he began his scream of terror I ran for the stairs and took them two-at-a-time; I nearly fell into the room. I slammed the door behind me, grabbing the bright blue duffel bag I always keep in the cubbyhole in the wall, I raced to my desk. I snatched 500 dollars, the crystal and magnetite rocks, my wallet, and my laptop off the desk and just threw them into the bag.
As I scoured the floor for the charger to my laptop, I finally heard my father scream with a mix of anger and fear in his voice, "Shanice! What have you done!?"
With his huge feet stomping up the stairs, I finally felt afraid. He grabbed the knob and put pressure on the door to throw it open to find to his surprise as well as my own that the door was locked. With the relief of remembering that I locked the door, I really put some pep in my step. I threw open drawers and shoved bras and underwear into the bag.
I was about to leave when I realized I needed to keep clean, I sped into the bathroom seizing my rag, toothbrush, toothpaste and towel off of the racks. I hurled everything into bag and half-way zipped it up. As I slid through the window with the duffel bag around my neck, my amazing father eventually broke down the door.
We shared a moment of eye contact and I'm sure nothing but fear was evident on both of our faces. I flipped over and rode the roof like a slide, landing on my father's truck and sounding the alarm. I slipped off of the roof, down the windshield and the hood with tears in my eyes. Sprinting down the street to my closest safe haven, I heard nothing but the cries of a deeply hurt man fading in the background.
I said "Maybe, I doubt it. Why?"
She replied "Well you spend all of your damn time in your room, which doesn't bother me; what does bother me is that there is either dead silence or fatal noise up in that attic. And you've changed your favorite colors."
I was confused on the latter statement.
I answered with "I didn't know I changed my favorite colors, you would think I would be the first to know because..."
She interrupted me and screamed "Don't play dumb! Your new favorite colors are: red, red and more fucking red! All you do nowadays is drink, eat, think, or talk fucking red! I know you got that red dye I told you not to get. Is that why you're always wearing those damn latex gloves all the fucking time!?"
I looked at my gloved hands, if you examined them hard enough you could see the tiny specks of red dye that refuses to be scrubbed the fuck away.
I returned my gazed back towards my mother and looked her dead in the eye and stated in an oddly calm voice, "Leave. Me. Alone."
I turned on my heels and walked away towards my room. It took my mother about two seconds longer than it would have normally taken to react, maybe it was because she couldn't believe I just said that?
"You get your ass back here!" She paused for a instance and then began following me. "You know what?" She continued as I was closing in on the stairs leading to my room. "I'll leave you alone! I'll leave your ass alone on the fucking streets where death will become your only damn company!!"
With that statement unlike any other I've heard pass between the delicate, soft lips of my once sweet and loving mother, I froze in mid-step with my mother just an arm's length away from me. I shoved my left hand deep into the left pocket of my coat and found my scissors. As I felt the rage quickly boil inside my body, I clutched the scissors with all of the strength in my hand.
One second I began to make a 90 turn on my right heel; the next second all I could see was red and there was a sound that amused me quite a bit. It was the sound of a sack of potatoes-good Idaho potatoes-falling to the ground; the sound was solid. I could not help the laughter rising from my core, destroying all of the rage with it.
My brother must have wanted to know what was so funny-the fights me and my now bloody mother had usually ended in me slamming my bedroom door in her face which marked the beginning of her night long crying-because he appeared in front of me with a great smile that was wiped away the second after he processed the scene before him.
The second after he began his scream of terror I ran for the stairs and took them two-at-a-time; I nearly fell into the room. I slammed the door behind me, grabbing the bright blue duffel bag I always keep in the cubbyhole in the wall, I raced to my desk. I snatched 500 dollars, the crystal and magnetite rocks, my wallet, and my laptop off the desk and just threw them into the bag.
As I scoured the floor for the charger to my laptop, I finally heard my father scream with a mix of anger and fear in his voice, "Shanice! What have you done!?"
With his huge feet stomping up the stairs, I finally felt afraid. He grabbed the knob and put pressure on the door to throw it open to find to his surprise as well as my own that the door was locked. With the relief of remembering that I locked the door, I really put some pep in my step. I threw open drawers and shoved bras and underwear into the bag.
I was about to leave when I realized I needed to keep clean, I sped into the bathroom seizing my rag, toothbrush, toothpaste and towel off of the racks. I hurled everything into bag and half-way zipped it up. As I slid through the window with the duffel bag around my neck, my amazing father eventually broke down the door.
We shared a moment of eye contact and I'm sure nothing but fear was evident on both of our faces. I flipped over and rode the roof like a slide, landing on my father's truck and sounding the alarm. I slipped off of the roof, down the windshield and the hood with tears in my eyes. Sprinting down the street to my closest safe haven, I heard nothing but the cries of a deeply hurt man fading in the background.
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