Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-37296816-20181025074447

Authors note:

First time posting so here goes nothing

My aim with this story is trying to provide buildup as well as causing the reader(s) to infer on some text. I did kind of met with some writer's block here and there in terms of not wanting to be too explicit about things. I also sometimes have some problems with run-on sentences as well as bringing up something out of the blue. I also skip words by accident whever I'm writing too. Please have  no mercy.

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'''I had always been the one that was diligent and successful in school. Be it Elementary, Middle, or High school and kind of in College. Now what I mean by this is that I would usually get straight A’s and sometimes B’s here and there (hence College) and would always make friends and joke with them along the way. Even working as a barista at a Peet's Coffee store and make the day seem even brighter to my fellow coworkers and customers, even the angry ones. I was awarded multiple certificates and medals and even coffee aprons for working hard and being kind. The most bizarre thing about this was that I had no individuals that resented me nor spoke ill of me. Maybe because I never singled out anyone or I somehow seemed like a nice person at first glance. Of course, I was truly happy and wanted to keep making people happy which is why I decided to try going for Psychology as a major or maybe even marketing to make things interesting. A Lot of my professors and friends had actually told me I would be great as a Psychologist, go figure. But, to be honest, I kind of wanted to go for a high paying job like going into medicine and such and not only make more people happy but also healthy.'''

'''There was one person that I couldn’t satisfy. At this point in the story, I figured you may have some questions like: “Well what about your brothers or sisters?” Don’t have any. “What about cousins or nieces or nephews?” They live in Burbank and I live in Seattle and I don’t have any. “Then what about your parents?” Don’t have any--, Sorry I mean I do it’s just, not in this current state. '''

'''See my father left my mother and me when I was just born. Well, not really, and not really to that not really. He left back to Mexico since he had some land and some distant family. Then he would come back and then leave back to Mexico. It was a back and forth thing you know? The absolute last time I had seen him was when I was seven (I’m 19 now). All I understood was that he found another woman and had another kid. Who knows if he's done the same with that kid like me when I was a kid. And of course, the same question would relay back to my mother.'''

'''I think of her as a beautiful, outstanding woman that supports herself and her only child by sacrificing her time and money, of course, that is what I’m entitled to say anyway. Now don’t get the wrong picture about me, I’m not some prideful person that flaunts his awards and recognition in the face of others. I am genuinely a good person and one that thinks his actions are necessary, just, and in goodwill. Well now that I think about it, that does sound a bit creepy, doesn’t it? Going back to my mother, I could never make her happy.'''

'''Yes, she would take pictures of my graduations, awards, recognition, and my other proud moments as well as crying when I presented her flowers and giving her my thanks in front of everyone during my high school graduation party. All of it, and I mean all of it, was for her own. She would feel happy and proud of not me, but of herself of having a successful son. It was like that ancient Chinese proverb that everyone has three masks. One for the world, one for family, and one for when you’re alone. At this point, I hope you understand my mother’s by now and possibly mine as well. Now I know that your confused and probably thinking: “Well your mom’s proud of herself of raising and encouraging her son.” No. No. No. And I mean No. I said H A V I N G not R A I S I N G. Understand? Sorry, didn’t mean to sound rude there, but my mother would really feel that way.'''

'''My aunt had heard of my accomplishments and sent a custom frame with a picture of my mother holding my baby self. The frame claimed around the border of the frame: “BEHIND EVERY GOOD KID IS A GREAT MOM.” I had felt unease once I saw the frame on a nightstand near our front door. Every time I return from school, open the front door, go directly to my room, I pass by it. Every. Single. Day. Every day I would grow sick as if I were poisoned bit by bit each time I saw it. I wouldn’t feel nausea or the need to faint, but I would feel an emotion I rarely ever had: Anger. Anger or frustration or Annoyance or whatever you called it had gradually eased itself into my heart. This was because I knew it was a lie, a blatant fucking lie.'''

'''Shit! Sorry! No! Shit! Sorry about that! Okay Okay, deep breath. *Inhale, Exhale* *Inhale, Exhale* *Inhale………………Exhale* I’m terribly sorry, I really didn’t mean to cuss repeatedly especially dropping an F-bomb as they called it. I am truly not an angry or evil person. Wait. Why did I say evil? I am not really evil. I would never…………hurt another individual. Hurting someone would just haunt me till the grave and knowing that I hurt a soul would just give me stress pains until they consume me. Look I’m sorry for growing any suspicion of myself I am truly sorry and I am truly not negative in any way. I can get frustrated too sometimes you know? I’m human as well you know? I am allowed to feel emotion, well only the positive ones I mean.'''

'''I’m a Catholic and have been baptized at birth so of course, I have to be nice. I mean I do too want to be nice and be kind to others. I don’t want to hurt others or make them cry or have people get the wrong idea or fall on their knees in any way. I-I m-mean that as a-a-a sort of metaphor? Yes! A metaphor! You know when people give up and fall on their knees from sadness or displeasure? THAT'S WHAT I MEAN! Sorry, indoor voices, Gray, indoor voices. *ahem* So erm, yeah I’m not meant to be negative in any way. That also includes crying, fighting, being sad or mad, thinking ill of others, being frustrated, depressed, be bothered by something or someone. Wait, so what was I talking about? My mother? Oh right.'''

'''I’m sorry, I think I just committed an ill act against Mother Mary. Well, just between you and me. And I’m sorry if I offend you, its just that I really don’t have much time before I leave. Like actually ACTUALLY leave you know? Anyway, Mother Mary is just some woman praised for birthing the baby Jesus. Jesus should receive all the credit, not some woman who happened to birth him. Of course, I guess anyone would worship the lady that birthed Jesus. I don’t actually believe it, I just think it's silly. Again, I’m sorry if I offended you, I promise you will feel at ease when you get the whole picture or at least SEE the whole picture. I doubt it would be in the news anytime soon or possibly leaked onto the deep web as some may say. It’s about my mother.'''

'''I know I know, I have been putting this off for a bit during our conversation, but to be honest, I just wanted to get it off my chest. See when I…., nevermind I’ll probably just banter one something else again. My mother was never satisfied with me. Not because I was an only child, but because her happiness of me doing well had vanished. Me doing well has desensitized her of any positive things happening to me. That’s my theory anyway, seeing how she now berates me on any mistakes like not washing the dishes, coming to church a bit tired and annoyed after studying, talking back with the intention of explaining the situation, and also appearing a bit under the weather. Like, if I were to get an A she would say: “good” or “fine” or “as it should be.” But even when I get a B: “You getting grades like that after all, I put up with? You think what I’m doing is easy? What are you proud of getting a B?”'''

“Well it was Calculus at the college, so it was hard an-”

“I don’t care, ‘so it was hard’ back then it was harder and now you can’t even get an A in College!”

And it would end with me going to my room feeling failure and emotions I had forsaken.

'''It would never stop. I was never physically abused, but the same wasn’t said for verbally. Then, for the moment you were waiting for a long time. And I’m sorry about that. I actually did something!'''

'''See I was sick and tired and tired and sick of feeling no appreciation, no recognition, no love from my mother! Hell! She never told she loved me! So out of a sheer rage, I grabbed a few supplies. It took a while, but what work doesn’t pay off with some time and diligence? So I prepared everything. I had numerous tools at my disposal. I had a regular kitchen knife, some flat barbed wire, a meat pounder, a box cutter, a pile of broken glass (had to break my window to get it), and a wooden chair. I also had to use some nails as well which was approximately a lot, if a lot is considered an approximation. I know, kind of overkill with the nails I know. I just really hope I didn’t disturb the neighbors with all of my drillings, doubt it, broke my windows after I was done drilling. I was finished, well kind of, had to shed a good amount of elbow grease after the drilling and kind of struggled with fastening the other end of the barbed wire on top of the chair. All I had to do was wait……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………fuck waiting.'''

Sorry.

'''Let me tell you it took a great amount of preparation and careful placement for everything to unfold to a bloody mess. And no that wasn’t a metaphor. Her posture was perfect. She had fallen to her knees with her mouth ajar. Her expression of absolute horror filled the room with suspense and plagued it with depression. Not the sad emotion I mean like the atmosphere was pushing down to the ground. Like when gravity increases by tenfold you know? Her lifeless body was not all that I was striving for. The grand prize was her eyes, bulging of the tragedy that impaled her. The tragedy her life being nothing, but a petty sacrifice to some child she had never loved. It’s one of those things that your life’s work has gone all down the drain because of some freak accident. Geez, I mean look at me, I’m a mess with my structure and storytelling, I cuss expecting some reaction, and I even stuttered or exploded at some points. But, hey, at least I got the job done and might have gained some sort of superstition while I was at it. Because when I broke my mother’s heart I swear I heard a crack.'''

'''   Whatever, I really don’t care. Oh! But I actually do care about something right now! Do you mind giving my neighbors my thanks? See, it was because of them that they called the police and summoned my mother from work to get here at the house in my room. They really have good ears, turns out they did hear the countless nails be drilled into the large wooden ceiling fan, me breaking my windows, and self-mutilating myself based on my grunts and shouts of pain. Any probably because I left my curtains open on purpose that they saw the end result. My body flailing around the room being suspended by a custom-made flat barbed wire noose (made by yours truly) that was drilled into the wooden ceiling fan. Now I what you’re thinking: “WHAT THE HELL!?!?” I know I had the same thought too when I used the box cutter, meat tenderizer, etc… before I turned on the ceiling fan switch by my door with a large plastic pointer. But it was so I could bleed more silly? The pointer was pretty hard to hold honestly.'''

'''   Do I have any regrets for my actions in terms of rebellion towards my single mother? Probably just one: my mother had my room painted green, kind of ironic since I overwritten the walls with my crimson paint. Pretty funny that my last thoughts of my life were that the colors of Red and Green don’t mix very well.'''

 