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Deceased Together

I woke up one morning in a daze. Nothing looked the same. Everything was… different – abnormal. My eyes seemed to shut for hours when I would blink. I walked down the stairs to a hideous sight.
My Mother was as white as snow, and her eyes black: not just any black, black. The black you see in your nightmares. She acted the same, as if she didn’t notice her monster-esque look. “Good morning darling!” she crooned, “What would you like for breakfast?” I was afraid to answer. “Speak up, we don’t have all day!” “No thanks. I think I hear the bus coming!” I grabbed my books and ran out the door; without an I love you or a goodbye.
When I sat down on the bus, everything froze. I could feel my eyes fall in the back of my head. It felt like an hour or two before I woke up. I was still sitting in the same bus seat, only I was in my gym clothes. I looked down at my gray t-shirt and found that it read, “YOU’RE NEXT!” in big, bold letters. I screamed and nearly fell out of my seat.
It took a second to catch my breath and realize I was alone. No one else was on the bus except the driver – whom was pale white, with black eyes. She turned around. It was Widow Cynthia Conra – mother. “We are going for a little drive.” I could see my deceased fathers profile in the window. James Conra died from a tragic car crash in 2006, when I was six years old. Mother always grieved. She would cry every night, but I didn’t remember her crying at all last night. I shook back into reality. A brick wall was straight ahead…
“AAAHHH!!!” I woke up screaming. A pool of sweat soaked my body. I took in my surroundings. The hospital?!? A doctor walked into the room. “Good evening Miss Conra,” Dr. Stat said. “What am I doing here? What time is it? Where is my mother?!!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Shhh! Calm Down. You are fine. Your Aunt brought you in here three days ago.” “THREE DAYS!!!” I knew something was wrong. “Yes. You were at a very dangerous temperature; above any fever. You would yell and shout in your sleep – calling for your mother.” He said. “Yes, my mother. Where is she? Does she know I am here? She must be worried.” I yelled again. “You mean you don’t know?” Dr. Stat asked in a very sincere voice, “She committed suicide seven days ago.” Silence filled the room. “You have a decision to make. You may live with your Aunt Marcy for the rest of your life, or you may go to a foster home.”
That night,
I went home and ended my life.
The whole Conra family
is back together
again.




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