Memories can twist just as easily as the turn of a switch or the press of a button. You might remember a situation far different than how it actually played out. Perhaps it was twisted by your emotions at the time, or your lack of understanding in that moment. Or maybe there's things you really don't wish to remember, details your brain purposefully left out. Either way, remembering something correctly is rare and sometimes it can take a dark turn.
I fled to my car in anger as I had just quit my job. Being treated unfairly and getting screwed over on hours, I couldn't handle all the demands they were throwing at me. I had to escape, to get back home so I could take a moment to breath and collect my thoughts.
Driving home, I couldn't help but reflect on the horror that unveiled today. Running around a kitchen, someone was standing around on their phone, in sight of the manager. There were a ton of orders coming in, but I was the one getting yelled at for things not getting out on time. I don't know about you, but being the only person pulling all the weight while the other person slacks doesn't exactly feel good.
After having to yell for the other person to help, the manager got upset with me of talking to them in that tone. It was at that point where my rage boiled over, making me spill out all the words I'd been hiding inside. It all came out at once, resulting in taking off my work shirt and walking out the door.
The anger was starting to make my heart race once again as I was getting lost in my memories. I hate feeling angry and upset over things, but sometimes being pushed too far unleashes something I'd rather not set free.
Making it home came by faster than I'd expected. I guess distracting your mind is something that makes trips run faster and smoother. I got out of my car and headed inside. I sat my keys on the counter and plopped down on my couch. My feet were aching from running around all day. One thing I hated about that place was they'd make you work 8-10 hours, often without a break. Being on your feet for that long hurts.
I sat my laid my head back and closed my eyes. I began thinking back to my home, the one I grew up in. I remember the sights and smells, each beautiful in their own right. I remember my mom's smile and my dad's smirks. They were both always fun to be around, no matter if I was a child or adult. They never stopped loving me. Unfortunately, it had been several years since I'd even heard from them.
I opened my eyes and grabbed my phone. I wanted to talk to them again. I called up my mom. I was pleased to find she still had the same number. She had the same sweet voice I remember from many years ago.
She and I talked for several hours, catching up on things. I told her I'd been working hard, trying to work on myself some and building character. She told me about some trips she and my dad had gone on, the beautiful life they got to lead.
I asked her if she'd moved out of the house I grew up in and was glad to hear they still lived there. I asked her about coming over. She said she'd love to see me again and agreed. So there, the plan was set. I was going to visit my parents tomorrow.
Heading over there, I was nervous. I know I'd spoken to my mom just the other day, I was just afraid to see how things would be. Would I even recognize them after all these years? Surely I would, they were my parents after all. They sounded the same last night.
I made it to there house. I was thankful I still somehow remembered the way to get there. I pulled into the driveway. It was strange, the outside looked a little trashier than I remembered. The outside of the house was coated in white paint, and all of it was chipping away to the black pain underneath. One of the windows appeared cracked. The front door was slightly stained yellow. I remember they were kind of heave smokers, so it made sense.
I got out of my car and made my way inside, looking around to see that the yards were all how I remembered them as a kid. The same tree out front I used to climb on and almost broke my arm falling from.
I was greeted at the door by my mom. She was covered from head to foot in darkened wrinkles. I didn't mean it that she looked old, she looked almost inhuman, like there were no bones beneath, just overly saggy, worm-like skin on her face. I hugged her and stepped inside.
The inside of the house was trashed. There was so much trash and boxes all over the floor that it was had to walk through. I was caught in disbelief.
It all started to come back to me. Mom had started hoarding just before I left. For some reason she never felt like cleaning up after herself. How could I have forgotten?
I asked her where dad was and she lead me to the bedroom in the back of the house. We had to step through a heavy path of trash to make it there. She opened the door and there lay my dad, laying in a blanket, dead. Mom didn't seem like it was anything out of the ordinary.
I fled to my car in anger as I had just quit my job. Being treated unfairly and getting screwed over on hours, I couldn't handle all the demands they were throwing at me. I had to escape, to get back home so I could take a moment to breath and collect my thoughts.
Driving home, I couldn't help but reflect on the horror that unveiled today. Running around a kitchen, someone was standing around on their phone, in sight of the manager. There were a ton of orders coming in, but I was the one getting yelled at for things not getting out on time. I don't know about you, but being the only person pulling all the weight while the other person slacks doesn't exactly feel good.
After having to yell for the other person to help, the manager got upset with me of talking to them in that tone. It was at that point where my rage boiled over, making me spill out all the words I'd been hiding inside. It all came out at once, resulting in taking off my work shirt and walking out the door.
The anger was starting to make my heart race once again as I was getting lost in my memories. I hate feeling angry and upset over things, but sometimes being pushed too far unleashes something I'd rather not set free.
Making it home came by faster than I'd expected. I guess distracting your mind is something that makes trips run faster and smoother. I got out of my car and headed inside. I sat my keys on the counter and plopped down on my couch. My feet were aching from running around all day. One thing I hated about that place was they'd make you work 8-10 hours, often without a break. Being on your feet for that long hurts.
I sat my laid my head back and closed my eyes. I began thinking back to my home, the one I grew up in. I remember the sights and smells, each beautiful in their own right. I remember my mom's smile and my dad's smirks. They were both always fun to be around, no matter if I was a child or adult. They never stopped loving me. Unfortunately, it had been several years since I'd even heard from them.
I opened my eyes and grabbed my phone. I wanted to talk to them again. I called up my mom. I was pleased to find she still had the same number. She had the same sweet voice I remember from many years ago.
She and I talked for several hours, catching up on things. I told her I'd been working hard, trying to work on myself some and building character. She told me about some trips she and my dad had gone on, the beautiful life they got to lead.
I asked her if she'd moved out of the house I grew up in and was glad to hear they still lived there. I asked her about coming over. She said she'd love to see me again and agreed. So there, the plan was set. I was going to visit my parents tomorrow.
Heading over there, I was nervous. I know I'd spoken to my mom just the other day, I was just afraid to see how things would be. Would I even recognize them after all these years? Surely I would, they were my parents after all. They sounded the same last night.
I made it to there house. I was thankful I still somehow remembered the way to get there. I pulled into the driveway. It was strange, the outside looked a little trashier than I remembered. The outside of the house was coated in white paint, and all of it was chipping away to the black pain underneath. One of the windows appeared cracked. The front door was slightly stained yellow. I remember they were kind of heave smokers, so it made sense.
I got out of my car and made my way inside, looking around to see that the yards were all how I remembered them as a kid. The same tree out front I used to climb on and almost broke my arm falling from.
I was greeted at the door by my mom. She was covered from head to foot in darkened wrinkles. I didn't mean it that she looked old, she looked almost inhuman, like there were no bones beneath, just overly saggy, worm-like skin on her face. I hugged her and stepped inside.
The inside of the house was trashed. There was so much trash and boxes all over the floor that it was had to walk through. I was caught in disbelief.
It all started to come back to me. Mom had started hoarding just before I left. For some reason she never felt like cleaning up after herself. How could I have forgotten?
I asked her where dad was and she lead me to the bedroom in the back of the house. We had to step through a heavy path of trash to make it there. She opened the door and there lay my dad, laying in a blanket, dead. Mom didn't seem like it was anything out of the ordinary.
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