Young Writers Society

Rain rushed from the gray sky, falling on my jacket and tangling my hair as I raced up the steps. The door was never locked; so I twisted the knob and was greeted with the silence of my house. The normal buzz of people wasn’t there when I entered. Something was wrong. My Mom sat alone at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in front of her, it was untouched. Her head hadn’t perked up when the door had swung open either, something was definitely wrong.
“Mom?” I asked as I unzipped my jacket. No answer came. “Mom, when are we going to see Dad?”
With just one look at her teary hazel eyes I knew that I would never see my Dad again, never hear his voice or ridiculous laugh, never see his smile. Never.

He was strong and confident like a stallion, never stern or unkind, but simply strong. Not so much physically, but strong emotionally. I believed that he could be hit with a ten foot building of emotions and never shed a tear. Or, so I thought when I was young and naive, when I didn’t have a clue about reality, when I didn’t know all the suffering that my family would face. My Dad wasn’t perfect, like a wild stallion at times, but I knew that my family and I were his world.

Rain fell from the grey sky, falling on my jacket and tangling my hair as I raced up the front steps of my house. My door was never locked; so I twisted the doorknob and was greeted with a silent house. The normal buzz of people wasn’t there when I entered. Something was wrong. My Mom sat alone at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in front of her, but she wasn’t after drinking it. Her head hadn’t perked up to see who was at the door when I opened it either, something was definitely wrong.
“Mom?” I asked as I unzipped my jacket. No answer came. “Mommy, when are we going to see Dad?”
With just one look at her teary hazel eyes I knew that I would never see my Dad again, never hear his voice or ridiculous laugh, never see his smile. Never.