Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25991290-20150113013043

i know I made a lot of mistakes, and I need some some help. Thx.

"MOMMY, PLEASE FEED ME!" I wailed. I was five, and I had watched my mother mentally and physically deteriorate over the past few months of that year. My mother had tried so many times for a new baby— I was an only child— and when she finally got pregnant excitement filled the house. My mom fell right out of her depression that was caused by not being able to become impregnated, and she was very bubbly. She even took me to a Chuck E Cheese for no reason one day. Then, a week before the birth of Thomas— that was what the baby was to be named— my father died in a horrific accident in a nuclear plant, falling into radioactive water. We never even went to the funeral. Then, the day came. My mother was brought to the hospital by a friend, and the baby was delivered. Dead. Thomas was born breach with the placenta detached. Doctors think that the baby died a month before the his birth. They took the dead child away—or tried—and after a few days, sent my mother home. She didn't say a thing to me for the whole day. and that brings me back to the beginning. I was starving, for I hadn't eaten anything but the remaining fruitsnackss in the kitchen cabinet, yet those had ran out. "Mommy, please, please mommy, please get up and feed me something!" I persisted for 10 minutes. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP NOW YOU UNGRATEFUL BRAT. JORDAN, WHY THE FUCK DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT THOMAS IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU?!" I stumbled away from my mother who was staring blankly at the ceiling on her bed. She had hardly ever yelled at me, the sweet, delicate woman she was, nevermindd ever screamed and cursed at me. I tried to ignore the horrid, terrible smell coming from under my mother's bed as I broke into a cry. "SHUT UP. SHUT THE HELL UP! FOR GOD'S SAKE, SHUT THE FUCK UP." I ran out of the room, terrified. What did she mean, Thomas was more important than me? He was dead, in the name of God! That night, my mother came into my room. I was in bed, and I flinched roughly when I saw her. What a terrible thing, for a child to flinch at the sight of their mother. She sat on my bed. "Honey, I'm sorry I scared you earlier. I was just upset. Daddy will be home soon, and he will tell you a bedtime story." I was utterly confused as my mother looked at me with dazed and psychotic eyes. "Mommy, daddy... He died." She stared at me with those eyes. "Jordan, take care of Thomas, okay? You be a good big brother." She said to me. She pulled a kitchen knife from seemingly out of know where and shoved into her throat. I wailed a horrific wail, screaming for my mother. By this time, the smell coming from under my mothers bed filled the whole house and was very noticeable, but at that moment the smell left my mind. All I could think about was that I had no family. I did what any good five year old would do and dialed 9-1-1 on our old landline. "Hello," I said to the operator in between noticeable wails of emotional pain. "I'm a young boy named Jordan. . ." The police and an ambulance arrived so quickly, I couldntt even comprehend it. The first thing officers noticed was the smell. One of the officers traced it to under my moms bed while other personnel tended to my mothers corpse. The officer looked with a flashlight under my mother's bed and gasped horrifically. He very carefully pulled out a rotting, dead infant. One of the officers vomited. I frantically sprinted out of the room. "Kid, come back! Oh man, what did I do..." Later, the officer asked me if I knew anything. "Son, did you know anything about. . . The baby?" "Imm just a young boy named Jordan. . ." I replied 