Spookychild’s writings

The phone rang at 6. My mom had just gotten home. I remember I was washing the dishes thinking about the day, about the trip to the pool, and then at home I had just started reading the Lord of the Rings to Tommy. I had already read The Hobbit, he loved it.

“And what happens next, Holly?” he had asked me.

My mom answered the phone. “Hello. Who is this?” She said. And then there was a long pause and a couple of O’s. And then a gasp. And then, “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Yes, yes, I know. I’ll tell her.” Her voice was cracking. She hung up the phone and turned to me.

I dropped the cup. I had been washing and it broke into little chunks. Shards of glass spread all over the sink edge, and some rained down on the floor.

“Holly.” I grabbed the garbage can, cutting my feet on the glass and I started shoving the bits into the can, cutting my hands.

“Holly!” I started cleaning up the floor. Ignoring her voice.

“Holly, please.” My mom tried to pull me up. I finished and ran out of the room.

“Holly!” my mom called, but I was already in my room. I looked at the door and locked it. Lay down in my bed and stared out the window. I could see stars. Lots and lots of stars.

“Holly,” my mom was at the door trying to open it, but she had found it locked. “Holly,” my mom said, “please talk to me.”

I said nothing. My mom left and Swifty came over to me and laid on my stomach. He was purring loudly. I don’t remember much else. I felt asleep. I dreamed about Tommy. I remember him laughing, and then I remembered blood was on his face. And he was reaching for me, calling. “Holly Holly help me.” They had been on the way to a movie. His mom was taking him to see a movie.

Swifty was curled up beside me when I woke up. My hands were covered with dry blood. At first I thought, Tommy. It was Tommy’s blood, but it wasn’t. I remembered the glass. It was 7:00 AM.