Your Little Girl Loves You

A Short Story By: Heather Moser

Writer’s note: “Death is never taken lightly, only consequently.”

Prologue:
It was a normal Friday evening. I had just come home from school, and I had homework as I usually do. I grabbed my afternoon snack of an apple and a bottle of water, and I started working on my Algebra.
After I finish my homework, I decide to freshen up a bit. So, I went into the kitchen and turned on the sink water. As I was waiting for the water to warm up, my mom’s boyfriend, Blake, decided to pull his pizza from the oven. He then served himself, and walked away without even a murmur. The water was perfect now, so I started washing my hair in the empty sink. All I heard was the water running, and the buzzing coming from the television in the living room. I was rinsing my shampoo, and was then submitted to a throbbing crash on my head. I closed my eyes hard, and let my head limp under the running water.
“Oh, didn’t see you there.” A man’s voice, sarcastic and brutal. I opened my eyes to a sink-full of thick plate glass, crimson water running down the drain, and Blake behind me.
As I was still looking down, I managed to shudder out: “Why… would you do that?” I hesitated to look up.
“You’re a bad kid, you deserved it.” He snickered, kicked the back of my shin hard, and walked back into the living room. I fell from the pain. Not only from the left over shampoo getting into the gash I had from the broken glass, but also from the leg cramp. I slowly recovered myself enough to get up and rinse my head off. I shut off the water, wrapped my head in a towel, and went back into my room. I had to hide this from my mom when she got home.


The Story:

I am a teenager, and you know, teenagers scared the living crap out of me… So, I guess I scare myself. I also killed a dead bird once. There wasn’t any blood involved, just a lot of maggots, considering it was already decomposing.
My life is in the pattern of a curled ribbon on a Christmas gift, crazy and sometimes unintentional. I am not a killer, only a troubled youth. Only troubled…I promise you.

“She’s gotten even creepier lately, I don’t know what to do with her.” My mother was on the phone with my real father. She makes these calls to tell my father how I am, or how I have been handling therapy. Honestly, I find a person with a pad of paper and a pen a threat to society. Life shouldn’t be written down as taking notes, but lived by writing a book. People think I’m crazy when I tell my school counselor that I have dead cats in my closet. I’m lying completely, but she believes me and tells my mom that she ’heavily recommends a therapist’. My mom called a shrink right away.
“She hasn’t been talking, and she has been giving me death glares.” Obviously you do realize I am eavesdropping on this phone call. He says something on the other side.
“I guess you’re right. Maybe you should take her for the weekend. Take her to her favorite restaurant, or go mini-golfing. Do something to take her mind off of all these frightening thoughts.” She listens to him, and paces around the kitchen table. “Okay, we’ll see you then. Bye-bye.” She hangs up her cell phone, and sits down.
“Laruen, come here!” She calls me. I’m right there behind the wall, so I do not respond right away. I act like I am walking from upstairs. I stand in the doorway, glaring at her as I ever so do. I enjoy making her crumble.
“Don’t give me that, talk to me. Please, Laruen. Your father is taking you this weekend. He has plans to take you somewhere fun. He will be here in a few hours, get ready so he doesn’t have to wait too long for you.” I give her a smirk, and then head upstairs to pack my stuff.
Hours upon hours later, I am still waiting for my father. He never shows up on time, he always gets sidetracked.
“Your father said he will be here in five minutes. He had an emergency work meeting.” Work-smirk… he was probably watching television. I sit waiting on the couch, reading a book. I lose track of time myself, and the next thing I know, I’m getting angrier and angrier. Why is he taking so long? It’s been an hour. I decide to head back upstairs, and change into my pajamas. I don’t think he is coming tonight. As I start to lay on my bed, I remember my mother’s boyfriend’s gun under my bed. I keep it here for ‘safe-keeping’ when he’s on business trips. My mother and he do not notice that I do this, it’s just an ideal situation for me to have it here for protection. I grab the gun from under my bed, and lay it under my pillow. I start to doze off, and am soon asleep.
“Laruen! Laruen, wake up! Your father is here! Come downstairs!” My mother wakes me. It is 11:45p.m., and I am infuriated. I grab the gun, put it in my bag, and head downstairs. F.Y.I: Don’t ever let me down.
“Hey Laruen. Sorry, work called me in for a meeting. I had to go, and then I had to go to the grocery store for us this weekend. That’s why I am terribly late.” What, no hug? No: “Hello honey, how are you? How’s life?” Nothing like that? Wow, thanks George. It’s dark in the living room, so I cannot really see the look on his face.
“How about we just sit down in here for a while to relax and talk about our day?” That’s my mom, for you. Always wanting to start up a conversation. I sit on the couch, hand in my bag clutching the gun.
“Laruen, I heard you’re not doing well in therapy. Any reason you’re not listening to the doctor? Why don’t you try punching a pillow? How come you’re so stressed out?” What is this George, twenty- questions? My mom joins in with questioning. Soon, my head is spinning, and I am still unresponsive. I snap, I go crazy.
I clutch the gun harder, and pull it out. A silenced pp7 pistol, my kind of gun. I point in in the direction of my father. He is still, lifeless… just like he believes I am. A porcelain doll that only stares, that never talks back. I aim and shoot him in the head. The bullet lands right in between his eyes, and I shoot again. This time, it hits his shoulder. He topples over on the ground, puking blood and pulsating in a fetal position. My mom is the same. Lifeless to me, I’m in a daze. I shoot her too. Both times landing in the neck. One landing in her jugular, and her neck explodes in debris of blood and skin. She too, lies on the floor dead. I walk in the kitchen like a zombie, grab a chef knife, and start to carve my name in their heads.
Laruen, not ‘creepy girl’. Written across both their foreheads.
After I am finished, I soon realize what I have done. The shocking horror. The blood on my hands, the blood on the floor. The fingerprints, the evidence. My life flashes before my eyes. I have to tell on myself. I go in my bag and grab the phone, and my jack-in- the-box. I sit in the middle of the floor, like that lifeless porcelain doll I am. I put the phone on speaker, and dial 9-1-1. As the operator picks up, I start to wind my box. I’m still clutching the gun.
As the box plays, I start to get more insane. The shock settling in of what I had just done.
“I have a secret…” I whisper in a small child’s voice.
“Hello? Ma’am? Are you joking around?” the operator isn’t taking me seriously.
“Come out to play, mommy. You never spend time with me. Come here, daddy. I need a hug… You never hug me, but at least you spend time with me unlike mommy.” I still whisper in the angelic, child-like voice. The operator is horrified.
“Ma’am, are you in danger? What is your location?” The operator is freaking out now.
“I’m at the park all alone, mommy and daddy. I’m on the swing. I’m going to jump off now. Watch me!” My voice gets progressively louder, as if I’m screaming. “Watch me jump into your unloving arms!”
The operator hears nothing but a gunshot.
“Ma’am? Ma’am?… Are you there?”
The line goes dead.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 26.10.2011

Alle Rechte vorbehalten