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Literature Text
I wore my fuzzy socks for the same reason I remembered home. It was mostly for moral support.
They didn't match my outfit at all, striped blue and purple as they were. It looked as if I’d skinned James P. Sullivan himself. But no, I wasn't a killer. Not just yet. I’d have a lot of time to consider it, it seemed. It was really quiet in the new place where I lived. The walls were soft, and nobody came to talk to me anymore.
Anyway.
My mom only came to visit me once in the soft place. At first, I hated the confinement, but now it doesn't bother me. I don’t need other people to be happy. I’m perfectly content here. It’s safe and warm, although they don’t always give me the food that I like. There isn't any chocolate pudding, for example. Or string cheese.
They brought me out of the room to see her. I was in a long hall of doors, doors that led to rooms just like this one. No windows, of course. I’d almost forgotten what it looked like.
"Hi, Mallory," my mom said. Her smile was nervous, guarded. She didn't bring any of the kids with her. She was scared of something.
I wondered why. Dad wasn't here, and the security guards weren't scary. In fact, I’d made friends with some of them. In fact, they were really nice. Though they didn't talk very long.
"How are you?" I asked cheerfully. This was going great!
"Oh, I’m fine. Once I paid for the lawsuit, of course..." These last words were mumbled, as if embarrassed. "Lawsuit? What lawsuit? Aaron didn't crash any cars in the last year, did he?" My fifteen-year-old brother was sooo irresponsible.
"No, no. It was for the...murd..." She didn't finish, so I decided to try to guess what she was saying.
"Merchant? Mervin?" Then I gasped. "Murder? Who was murdered?"
"No one, Mallory. It’s nothing." Mom began to turn away. The security guards were whispering.
"Nothing? Are you suggesting that I am a murderer?" My voice, rising in a crescendo, shot up a pitch on the final word.
"No, no, no!" Mom cried. She was walking away as fast as she could. I think she may have been starting to cry. But I didn't care. That last statement was totally uncalled for, and I just lost control.
She just ran away. Just like he did. Cowards, both of them.
Take me back. Take me back to my safe place. Take me back to my heavenly room, where the walls are soft and nothing can hurt me.
They didn't match my outfit at all, striped blue and purple as they were. It looked as if I’d skinned James P. Sullivan himself. But no, I wasn't a killer. Not just yet. I’d have a lot of time to consider it, it seemed. It was really quiet in the new place where I lived. The walls were soft, and nobody came to talk to me anymore.
That is, besides the people in my imagination. Sometimes, I think they’re real, but they’re mostly just in my head. That’s why I never liked 3D movies. You can never tell what’s there and what’s not, and when you try and touch it, you just end up looking stupid. Though that’s no reason to take me away and put me here. I was just trying to figure out what it all meant. Well, I guess I don’t mind it now.
Anyway.
My mom only came to visit me once in the soft place. At first, I hated the confinement, but now it doesn't bother me. I don’t need other people to be happy. I’m perfectly content here. It’s safe and warm, although they don’t always give me the food that I like. There isn't any chocolate pudding, for example. Or string cheese.
They brought me out of the room to see her. I was in a long hall of doors, doors that led to rooms just like this one. No windows, of course. I’d almost forgotten what it looked like.
"Hi, Mallory," my mom said. Her smile was nervous, guarded. She didn't bring any of the kids with her. She was scared of something.
I wondered why. Dad wasn't here, and the security guards weren't scary. In fact, I’d made friends with some of them. In fact, they were really nice. Though they didn't talk very long.
"How are you?" I asked cheerfully. This was going great!
"Oh, I’m fine. Once I paid for the lawsuit, of course..." These last words were mumbled, as if embarrassed. "Lawsuit? What lawsuit? Aaron didn't crash any cars in the last year, did he?" My fifteen-year-old brother was sooo irresponsible.
"No, no. It was for the...murd..." She didn't finish, so I decided to try to guess what she was saying.
"Merchant? Mervin?" Then I gasped. "Murder? Who was murdered?"
"No one, Mallory. It’s nothing." Mom began to turn away. The security guards were whispering.
"Nothing? Are you suggesting that I am a murderer?" My voice, rising in a crescendo, shot up a pitch on the final word.
"No, no, no!" Mom cried. She was walking away as fast as she could. I think she may have been starting to cry. But I didn't care. That last statement was totally uncalled for, and I just lost control.
"I’m not a murderer! I’m not! I’m not! It wasn’t me, I swear! He’s not a person..it didn't count...not a murderer...not a murderer!" I screamed. The security guards grabbed me. I kept on yelling, trying to make my point clear to her as I struggled. But Mom just ran away, her high-heeled footfalls resounding in a staccato beat in the empty corridor. Click, clack, click, clack.
It was a while before I calmed down, but eventually I gave up because my throat was sore and my head hurt too much from crying. Crying and the memories. Everything else. Everything.
I kept repeating the words as they escorted me back to my room, softly sobbing them under my breath, "You've got the wrong person...not a killer...I’m not, I’m not a killer...not...yet..."
It all faded into black velvet silence as I collapsed in a heap. From that day on, nothing has ever hurt me since. The world is too much for me, so I have grown to love my soft-walled room.
Literature
What time is it?
She was standing at the departure platform and looked to the ground. Cold wind blew around her, but she barely felt it. A voice announced that the train would arrive six minutes later.
It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore. She looked upwards, at the big clock hanging from the ceiling, saw the clock-hand jerk forward, with every second passing. It had started to rain.
She looked around; there were a lot of other people at the platform. They were listening to music, talking to each other, reading a book, some were even laughing. Others just stood there waiting impatiently. A young couple were holding hands, kissing each other. Again she
Literature
Hospital
"I hate hospitals."
"Why's that?"
"They're always trying to hide."
"What do you mean by 'hide'?"
"You smell that?"
"Yea. Smells clean."
"I hate that smell."
"Why?"
"It's too clean. It's like they're trying to hide the fact that people die here."
"Well that's morbid..."
"It's the truth."
"Would you rather it smell like germs and corpses?"
"No. But that's not the point."
"What is your point?"
"It's all just too... pleasant."
"Well yea. Hospitals are meant to help people. They're supposed to be pleasant."
"...You've never had a love one die, have you?"
"...No."
"No one should have to sit and watch the world spin on as if the pe
Literature
Intruder Alert
Human shadows, supposedly empty house...
Help?
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It was just like middle school. Nobody understood me.
~
So childlike, in her innocence...
In case you were wondering, Mallory was...ABUSED...by a man who (in this story) remains anonymous...You can guess what happened next.
My final project in Creative Writing. I'm actually pretty proud of it.
Could also be called "Not a Killer" :I
I think I'll just...leave this here...//rolls away
might enjoy this one.
Sequel: [link]
(c)
~
So childlike, in her innocence...
In case you were wondering, Mallory was...ABUSED...by a man who (in this story) remains anonymous...You can guess what happened next.
My final project in Creative Writing. I'm actually pretty proud of it.
Could also be called "Not a Killer" :I
I think I'll just...leave this here...//rolls away
might enjoy this one. Sequel: [link]
(c)
© 2013 - 2024 theolivethief14
Comments42
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Mallory's naivete puts a really refreshing spin on the idea. 
Nice work and congrats on the DLD!
Nice work and congrats on the DLD!