24 Hours in Hell

Old Memories...

I climb out of the shower and throw on random clothes that scattered the floor of the bathroom. I ended up in a grey sweater and a pair of leggings.

I sigh and open the door only to see Mom staring at a photo. A laundry basket clung to her hip and a ghost of a smile hint at her face.

It was a picture of me, Dad, and Grant when we were young.

"It's funny," Mom states dryly. 

She drops the basket to the floor and walks over to my dresser. She grabs my hair brush. She walks over to my bed and sits. I sit down between her legs and she runs the brush through my wet hair.

"I remember back when your father was teaching you how to hunt. You had a bob and it wasn't very long, but you'd have your hair up in a ponytail," she smiles. Tear ran quickly down my cheeks.

"Mom? Is there a point to this story?" I ask quietly.

I really, really, really didn't like talking about my father. I guess it's just hard to bring up something like this especially when they're dead.

"I remember when you had that bob, you'd just talk and talk and talk. If they didn't have a beard, you'd just talk their ear off," she says, completely disregarding my question. "Whatever happened to my baby girl?"

"She grew up," I answer with a shrug. Mom wasn't even brushing my hair anymore.

"Sam... I have no idea what happened in that school nor will I ever know what you went through, but whatever you did, you only did what you had to," she reminds.

But what if I didn't? I shot someone. I still don't know if I did what I had to or if I was just mad. And now I'm just confused...