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The Rush-Chapter One Conclusion

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After a few seconds only the whining of flies and mosquitoes in the door which was still hanging wide open, my mom’s reassuring, but confused voice moaned, “What?” from inside the kitchen. She squinted tiredly through her baggy eyes and tangled blond bush on her forehead. This made sense since the coffee mug in her hand was full and hot.

My wide eyes frantically scanned the surrounding foyer and hallways, intent on spotting the danger I was sure was present somewhere. “What happened?” I choked out before covering a dry cough. “Where are the boys?” As much as my brothers annoyed the heck out of me on a day to day basis, I was sometimes their third parent. Or the second since Dad wasn’t there.....then again, I’m not gay...whatever.

My mom glanced to the right, into the living room and back to me as if she were questioning my sanity. “Did that Wes kid watching those horror movies again make you paranoid?”

“He doesn’t watch anything I haven’t already seen,” I mumbled in a catatonic, automatic-response voice. I could only guess that my expression was just as far away. One of those times where I wish there was a mirror in front of me. Sometimes there’s a little piece of my head that’s away from whatever I seem totally focused on that wonders what I look like. Vain? Maybe, but that’s just me.

She laughed after a few more seconds of silence. “Well, I’m not dead, as you probably would’ve guessed. Only by the fact that I’m talking though, I must look like a zombie from the Thriller video.....oh, and the boys are alive, too.”

We carried on the rest of the day normally, though I couldn’t seem to get a grasp of what had come over me. I’m usually one to consider the extremely unlikely. No joke. One time Wes and I were meeting Vinnie at the bowling alley and he didn’t come at the right time. He didn’t answer his phone and when Wes said ‘I wonder where he is’, I said, 'he’s probably dead'. I had a habit of telling myself things were the end of the world so that I’d be pleasantly surprised when thing turned out better. I guess in this case I didn’t really have time to do that, but I wasn’t used to the dazed, awkward feeling of being caught totally off-guard. I just had no literal idea.

I had been paranoid before, in fact, I was once diagnosed with a minor case of paranoia after several instances of checking under my bed, in my closet, and under the sink for home invaders. The weird thing about that is that I would have bet my life any day that there was no one under my bed, but it was an emotional attachment. A bad habit like biting your nails. I had since returned to normal since my shrink had decided it was a hormonal phase; it had taken it’s course and disappeared just as she had predicted. But this wasn’t like that. Not like an itch I just had to scratch or walking past a piece of garbage in the street and having to pick it up and throw it away. This was like a heart attack where I had to shock myself in the chest right away or my heart would fail. These thoughts lingered in my head all day, making it a blur.



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