Just a short one-shot I thought of on the spot...Mother's Day is coming so I thought, why not? It's not that good, just so you know...
I hate her. I really really hate her. Sure she's the woman who gave me my life. Sure she's the woman who raised me all the sixteen years I've been alive since my father left us shortly after my birth. But I cannot bring myself to love her. What has she ever done that actually made me smile? She has always been a cruel and selfish woman who would do anything to get what she wanted. She would gladly hurt others for her own benefit, even me, her own flesh and blood. Everyday, I fear doing something that may anger her. If I did do something she didn't like, it was the two-inch metal cane coming down on me, by the hands of my own mother.
I left my home the moment I earned enough money from my part-time job to rent out a place cheaply, far away from the torture of that deranged maniac who I once called Mom. That was when I was sixteen, almost five years earlier. I often wondered how she ended up, but it was not out of worry for her. See, I never told her about my leaving the house for good. It is the same as running away, but I never saw or heard of any police reports made by her looking for me. I was able to go out in the streets easily without any officers trying to drag me back home like they do for most runaways. It made me wonder if she truly hated me as much as I hated her, if I had truly been nothing more than a useless parasite she couldn't wait to get rid of. It sure seemed like it.
No one ever knew of my relationship with my mother. Whenever anyone asked, I told them my parents had left me when I was young. To some extent, it was true. After leaving the house myself, I ended up working overtime to pay off my school fees and living necessities along with the payment for the rent. My life became completely mine to live and control. I no longer had to live in fear. I got a good job after I finished high school, but I still stayed in the same apartment as I thought of it as a place of salvation for me, like it was the place that saved my life. I know it's strange, but it felt like that to me. My mother never bothered me again. It was all for the best. Life was good. Until I found out the expense of it all.
I was on my way to work on a normal day. The sun was bright and I had to wear sunglasses while I was driving. Incidentally I glanced at my calendar and realized something. It was my mother's birthday. For the past few years I had never cared. I hated her to the core after all. But after my fifth year of a good life, I had softened up considerably. I decided to get her something, as repayment for raising me for sixteen years. It would not be anything extravagant. I doubted she deserved anything like that. I got her a simple wristwatch.
I drove to the old apartment in which I had suffered long before. The old door alone brought back dreadful memories I wanted to forget, but I decided not to back out since I already brought the small token of repayment. I rang the doorbell and waited. No response. I rang again, and the same result. I resorted to knocking, loudly. In my memory, she had always hated it when people knocked, and she would scream at those people without opening the door, calling them idiots for not using the more peaceful doorbell. However, the first sign that something was wrong showed. There was absolutely no response whatsoever.
I was confused. Did she move out? Or maybe she was just out shopping or something? I decided to check the mailbox next to the door. She had always hidden the house key there, with an inconspicuous thin black thread, attached to the key, hanging out of the slot. I checked it. The thread was there. The key was inside. She was at home.
Strange? Why didn't she answer the door? I then made the choice to take a risk and pulled the key out of the mailbox. I opened the door. When I did, I found the curtains drawn and the whole place was dusty. I looked like it had not been cleaned in ages. There was a musty smell in the air, and there was a particularly putrid odor coming from what used to be my room. Without thinking much of it I went into the room I once lived my tortured life in. Once I did, I received the shock of my life.
A skeleton hung from the ceiling, covered in rags and bits of rotted flesh. I stifled a scream and tried to back away, stumbling backwards and falling against my old set of drawers. I stared at the skeleton in shock. Then a yellowed envelope landed on my lap. It must have been on the top of the drawers, and the impact of my fall caused it to flutter down. I saw the faded writing in dark blue ink, spelling out the words, 'To my little boy Chase'.
My eyes widened in realization as I realized the skeleton was my mother, and that she had left the letter for me. I glanced at the skeleton again before ripping the envelope open and pulling out the paper inside it. I read each word slowly, so I wouldn't miss anything, and churning feelings filled my heart as I read.
To my little boy Chase,
Today I realized you left our home. I was devastated and wanted to call the police, but then I stumbled upon a little notebook you kept in your room. In it, you wrote your plans of leaving, and how you hated me so much. I believe you thought I would never see that notebook. I don't believe you would ever read this letter either, but I still feel like I must leave my feelings behind somehow, whether you know them or not.
Reading your notebook contents made me realize what a horrible person I had been, how much pain I had caused to you. I was over-stressed with work and alcohol seemed to make it better, though it seems to have thopoosite effect, and I have been bitter ever since your father left you and me for another woman. I took it all out on you. After all, you look so much like him. Even if I am your mother, I had no right to do that. You have every right to hate me. I have never done anything for you but make you suffer.
I have decided against going to the police, as I have brought all this upon myself. This is my retribution, and I doubt you would want to see the face of this horrible person any longer. I do not deserve to live, not after everything I have done. You were all I ever would have needed, but it seems that people really do not appreciate the things they have until they have lost it. I have lost you, and I realized how much I loved you. But I have been deprived of the chance to ever show it.
This will be the last day I breathe. I can never atone for my deeds against you, so by doing this, at least you would never have to see my face scolding or tormenting you ever again. I hope the punishment I receive in Hell would be fitting. I have forced my own son to feel the misery and pain I had for all these years. That is unforgivable. I can only say, should you ever end up reading this, that I am sorry for everything. Do not forgive me of you please, but at least let me apologize for all I've done. Have a good life, settle down with a nice girl and find happiness. You don't ever have to even remember me. Goodbye my little boy. I love you.
When I finished reading, I found myself crushing the fragile piece of paper and trying to stop myself from crying. Didn't I hate her? Why are my tears threatening to fall then? Was it because I had never really known my mother at all? I never realized how badly she had been affected by my dad's death. Reading the letter made me feel cold and empty inside. She was suffering, and since she had little education she struggled greatly with her jobs. She was the one who paid for my living expenses for 16 years. She was the one who taught me how to read and write when I was very young. She was the one who gave me life.
She was my mother, my only family. And now, because I was oblivious to her pain for so many years, I've lost her, along with the chance to ever starting over. The tears finally streamed down my cheeks.