Published on November 25, 2014
“Mom,” I called, but got no answer. “Mom!” I called again, but still got no answer. You see, my mom is a writer. And almost everyday for the past 16 years she has been here. I still didn’t sweat it too much, because she is a grown woman and knows how to take care of herself. I took off my back pack and placed it on the stairs then attempted to put my curly red hair into a bun( but failed miserably). I dragged myself to the kitchen and got out a loaf of bread and my favorite snack, Nutella. I popped the bread into the toaster and got out an apple and a bowl. I cut the apples into tiny squares and put them into the bowl. Next, I put two big spoonfuls of Nutella in the bowl and mixed it up. I jumped when I heard the toaster ding, because I still had that bad feeling. I got the toast out and put my mixture on top of both of the pieces. Once I got done with my snack, I decided to go and make sure my mom wasn’t just taking a nap in her room; but with every step closer to the room my stomach clenched even harder to the point I had to stop my progression and kneel down and hold my stomach until it calmed down. Only, my stomach never unclenched so I knew I would just have to tough it out. I slowly made my way up the rest of the stairs and went into the room. By now, the pain was almost unbearable. That’s when not only my stomach clenched but my heart along with it, because I saw the necklace she never took off, not even at night, laying on her bed along with a note saying “ I'm gone ”. The scariest part was it wasn’t in her handwriting. I had to tell myself over and over that the note just meant she was going to be gone for a little while and for me not to worry, but no matter how hard I tried I knew deep down, that my mom was really gone.