dumdeedoo

United States

words fill my brain like the top of an hourglass
but slowly do they trickle through my mouth
~
on a semi-hiatus, im super busy with school, basketball, therapy, friends, and guitar lessons. idk when ill be able to post more D:
~
happy writing

Message to Readers

please give me reviews!! this is for a competition!!

Crying Face

November 3, 2020

    Terrible things tend to happen to good people because only good people are strong enough to handle them. After all, God only sends his strongest warriors into battle, right? 
    Terrible things happen to good people. I should know. Some of the people in my life are the best people you'll ever meet. My grandma used to mend and clean a homeless man's clothes for him and put change in the pockets. She died four years ago when she was sixty-six. My mom participates in a Young People In STEAM program, where she advises young people on what the best way to get into tech is. She married an abusive sociopath. 
    Truly good people are difficult to find, my mother tells me. You're lucky to know so many. She's right. Which is why it sucks that I don't know how to return the favor.
    
    "C'mon, baby, we're already late." My mom rushed around the house, grabbing things I didn't think we needed to go to church. A duffel bag, food, water. My boots clattered on the floor as I jumped off the last step. I love these boots. They match my favorite jeans and my favorite shirt. I'd know them anywhere, every scratch, every tear, every scuff. My mom says it's because I'm always looking at my feet instead of making eye contact. She's probably right.
    "I'm coming, Mom," I grabbed my jacket and hat.
    "Can you grab your sister, too?" She called.
    I sighed a little bit. My little sister, Posie, was four. She usually needed help getting dressed and sometimes getting down the stairs.
    "Posie!" I crept into my little sister's room. Her hazelnut curls stuck up every which way, and she was struggling to get a pink dress over her head. I helped her pull the dress over her head and brushed her hair into two little pigtails. Then we found her sandals, and she pulled them on herself. 
    "Good job, Posie!" I tickled her, and she laughed her cute toddler laugh.
    "Isie!" She grabbed one of my braids with her chubby hands.
    "Yeah, Iris!" Posie has trouble saying my name. She can barely say her own.
    I carried her downstairs, helped her zip her coat, and then practically dragged her out to the car. In fifteen minutes, she was strapped into her car seat, and I was in the seat next to her, ready to calm the tears that may come.

    "She's asleep, Mom," I whispered into the front seat once Posie's eyes had finally closed and her breathing had slowed. "How long until we get to church? It isn't that far away, right? Why didn't Dad come with us?"
    My mom pulled over. "Get in the passenger's seat."
    Confused, I obeyed. "Mom?" I looked over at her. Her eyes were shiny. She had a dimple on her chin whenever she cried. I could see it quivering.
    "Iris, my sweet girl," She started to drive and put a hand on my cheek. "We're not going to church."
    "What? But I thought-"
    "Baby, why do you think I wanted you to wear your favorite clothes and bring your favorite things?"
    "I don't know..." I was getting worried, "Are... are we ever going back home?"
    "I don't know, baby." The tears splashed onto her jeans.
    "What about Dad?" I asked, "Where are we going?"
    My mom looked at me. "Do you remember Ms. Grant?"
    Suddenly, I'm seven years old again. My mom is pregnant with Posie. I'm holding her hand and eating cotton candy while she talks to a woman with grey hair and glasses. When I asked her later who the lady was, she told me it was her friend, Ms. Grant.
    "Who is she? Really?" I asked.
    "She... she runs a domestic abuse shelter."
    There was a long pause while I took this in. "Is that where we're going?" my voice was small.
    "Yes."
    I tried to swallow the lump in my throat and ease the burn behind my eyes, but when I looked out the window, my crying face is reflected back at me. Brown braids, teary eyes, and a dimpled chin. It's my crying face. It's also my mom's crying face. 
    She was right. Terrible things happen to good people.

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  • November 3, 2020 - 1:26pm (Now Viewing)

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9 Comments
  • abby.a

    re: <33333


    3 months ago
  • rozzie-f

    Wow! This is quite good, and very insightful. I wonder this myself very often. Why does bad stuff have to happen at all? Why can't the world just be good? You made me care for your characters in this small excerpt for sure!


    3 months ago
  • Mpm#1

    Woah.... Beautiful.
    Re: oooo! Glad you enjoyed! :)


    3 months ago
  • Rose A. (semi hiatus)

    Wow, this is such a beautiful piece! I'm totally following you now. :) I hope you win! Good luck.


    3 months ago
  • mystifiedtulip

    Wow. Speechless. (Though technically not cause I just said that but-)<333


    3 months ago
  • midnight.summerrose

    Wow! I'm astounded! This is beautiful! :)


    3 months ago
  • dead account

    peter says that he loves this piece - and that he would die for you too, lol.


    3 months ago
  • abby.a

    i'll write a review after math! ;)


    3 months ago
  • Paisley Blue

    yesssssssssssssssssssssss
    i love ittttttt


    3 months ago