17Author's Note: This is a flash fiction story. By flash fiction I mean a story in 500 words or less. Generally my flash is anywhere between 300-500. Very short, but you pack a whole story in in it. I hope you enjoy this particular flash fiction story. ^^ This is my first ficpress, but definitely not my first story or anything. Read, and once you read, please give a review. It can be short, it can be one word. If you don't like it, however, you must tell me why. This is going to be a series of flash fiction stories. They're probably all going to be disconnected. If you want me to continue, you're going to have to give me support.
Steal this, by the way, and you will experience weeping and gnashing of teeth. This is copyrighted to ME. Remember the laws of copyright: technically, once you've created something, it's yours. Everything here is written by me. As I said before, hope you enjoy.
I Raised Them
"I wanted to raise strong girls," my mom is saying to my friend. "Strong girls with a good Christian base. I knew if I did that, they'd be ready for anything the world can throw at them."
I tie the laces of my clogging shoes. I'll just pretend I haven't heard anything. My mom always talks like that. Throw a few Christian novels on the ole' bookshelf and give 'em an education. Then they'll be good to go. Strong. I stand up and dance. I dance up in front, like I always do, but this time I really shine because my sister's not here. It's nice that she doesn't steal all the glory for once. People around me compliment me. "You're good," they say. I re-run these moments through my head again before I go to bed.
It's my birthday. There are bright colors and cake and balloons and everyone is happy. At the end of the day, I sit outside on the porch looking at the night sky. Like I want to own it. And then my dad walks out and my heart freezes up. He tells me what a spoiled brat I was during the party, and I scream at him to go away. I've given him enough chances. My mom and sister tell me I shouldn't have reacted that way. They're all angry at me.
Sometimes I have these cartoon moments in my head where I do something to myself, just to make the people around me regret some of the things they've said or what they've done. I picture their faces as if they were to find my dead body somewhere in the house. At church everyone says these moments in my head are sinful and harmful. I think they're satisfying. It's not like I'd really go through with it anyway.
It's really frustrating when your own parents are constantly saying stuff about you while you're in the room, but they pretend you're not there and your sister is always poking fun of you in front of others. I'm already angry enough and can only get angrier, and all that has got to go somewhere. I run up to my room. Kicking the wall, punching the pillow, screaming, it all doesn't help. So I get a pair of purple scissors and cut a nice gash on the palm of my left hand. The anger seems to go away for a little, or at least it dies down, and I feel like I've accomplished something. And then I start to feel the beginnings of shame and wonder where all that strength my mom said she gave me went.