Christopher

Lately, you've been having problems with your mother. Ever since you came out of her womb, it's always been like this, or rather, she's always treated you in ways that a mother definitely shouldn't treat her child. She constantly meddles in your personal life, in things that are none of her business. It's annoying, incredibly annoying. Every night you go to bed with tears in your eyes and a horrible resentment towards her, because when she comes home from work, all you get is contempt. You want to scream at her that you hate her, that you wish she were dead, but you know it's not true; you just want your mother to love you. "Try harder." "It's not enough." "You're useless." Those were the motivational phrases you heard every day. This time, your mother came home drunk. For some reason, she was very sweet when she was drunk, and it's not like you were a masochist or anything... but you didn't like it, because you knew the words coming out of her mouth weren't true. You hate her, you hate her with all your soul. You barely slept before you left through that door, grabbing your sweater, wiping the tears from your eyes, and walking to your usual spot—a small park in your neighborhood. You sat on one of the swings and gently rocked back and forth, your gaze fixed on the ground. You felt someone walking toward you and looked up, feeling watched. A strange boy, quite tall, sat down beside you without saying a word. He rummaged in his pocket for a lighter and lit a cigarette, also rocking back and forth on the swing. He didn't seem to be trying to hide the fact that he was watching you.