Home Alone

So, there I was eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes when my mom told me to take the trash out on my way to school. “Ali!” She called from the living room. “I have to run to the store before heading into the office, can you be a dear and take the trash down on your way out?”


“Mm, yeah mom! I gotta leave a little early today. I’m meeting up with Arnie about our science project for Mrs. Cornell’s class!” I yelled back choking down my cereal.


“What’s that Ali?” she said as she peeked her head into the kitchen while still putting on her earrings. They were the gold hoops ones that I gave her two years ago for Christmas. I remember because it made me smile seeing that she still wore them. I never bought anyone jewelry before and I thought that they might get stuck in some odd drawer or something after she wore them for the first time, as a pity thank you jesture, on Christmas eve when we went to the Jones’ farm for their annual Christmas party. But she wore them quite regular (I was surprised and happy to see) over the following years.


Mom wasn’t a beautiful woman in the traditional sense. But she did have a certain cuteness and strength to her, and she kept her figure well into 40. She however will never reached 41. She will never grow into her handsome features that suit some women well as they get older. She will always be 40, sweet, wonderful, and the glue that kept me together as I was growing up.


I think my parents had an ideal relationship. They actually loved each other. Dad always held the door for her and walked on the street side of the sidewalk. You know, like a real gentleman that you don’t often see these days. I think I would like to be like my dad some day. I’ve only ever been on one date and I tried to do the whole grabbing the door thing for Sarah Wallace, but I don’t think she fully understood what I was trying to do. I think there is a kind of dance that happens with older couples when it comes to doors and such. The woman hangs back as the man steps in to open the door. It’s almost like a small musical number. And someday I too plan to have my own dance partner to move with.


It’s a shame what happened to Sarah. She was one of the good ones here in Deadtown, but it was her that I saw on the TV that morning as the news bulletins blasted onto the TV and cutoff my cartoons. Mom had just walked out the door and I was putting my bowl in the sink when a high-pitched tone caught my attention and a Special News Bulletin flashed onto the screen.


Breaking News: Terror on the streets of a small U.S. town. We must warn you that the images that you are about to see are graphic in nature. Younger viewers are encouraged to step out of the room…” The images began to blur in my head as I just stood there in shock.


Is this… here?


“Mom?” I whispered


On the screen some children were running. The video was blurry with motion and it looked like someone filmed it on a cellphone. There was a man covered in blood. He moved odd and looked crazed. The man grabbed a girl as she tried to run away with her friends. She had a look of horror on her face as he tackled her to the ground. She looked like she was struggling and suddenly he began biting her. He didn’t just bite, he tore at her soft flesh and her white top turned red with a flood from the wounds. I knew her… I knew her because I had just kissed her the night before. She was my first real grown-up kiss. She was one of the good ones.


“Mom?” came the voice from my lips again growing louder.


The reporter came on again as more footage was played. But it all just blurred in my head.




I ran outside but the car was already gone. She was out there… Whatever was going on now on the news, was out there…


… “Mommy?”.



Here we are, the Comedy section. C, D, E… H. Happy Gilmore, Harry and the Henderson’s… Ha! Home Alone. Found it!



Now, what else do I need while I’m here?


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: