Tell me what you think please. Not of the story, but of my writing. I know there isn't much detail, but I can do detail.
She never has to know that I blame her for his death. Tears blurred my vision, causing me to run into the fence ahead of me. I yelped in pain, making her wrap her arms around me, thinking she was the reason I cried out. I let her tighten her grip around my shoulders, and heard her whisper, “I’m sorry. I love you,” over and over again. But why didn’t I feel love for her back? Or at least that she did, indeed, love me? Why was it that all I felt was fear? I felt her let go. I had to stop myself from running. Running with all my might, until my legs were numb and could no longer hold me. That was what I did. When I felt pain, embarr*censored*ment, anger, anything I didn’t like to feel, I ran. I ran, trying to leave those emotions behind, to maybe return home normal again. But the runs also disturbed me. It gave me time to think. Have you ever wondered who you really are? On the runs, I notice that my closest friend isn’t really that close to me. At school, I have drama. I seem to not be able to act, but then I go for one of these runs. I learn that the person everyone else sees is a character. And during these runs, only one thing scares me. I find that while it may not be strange that no one else knows the real me, neither do I. I ask myself questions, only to find I have no answer. I will think of the answer that my social act would say, but know that that isn’t really the right answer. Is that what happens if you act as a character to long? You lose the real you? I reached the house. I put my hand on the door knob, casting it into the light outside the house. It’s shaking. I don’t know what I feel, but I know it is bad. I know because my heart won’t slow and I feel scared as well. I had gotten in trouble again tonight. I forgot to care for one of her horses. Her precious horse was out of water. She had screamed at me, accusing me of almost letting it die. She felt bad almost immediately, but it didn’t fix what she said. She says I’m crying because I’m sorry, that I felt bad for forgetting. But she doesn’t know. Two years ago she bought me a dog. A month ago he died. We came home with a friend of mine to see him hurt, bleeding, and with fur missing everywhere. I wanted to cry at the sight of him, but I didn’t want to make my friend have a bad time. I watched as all she did was pet him, then walk into the house. My friend did the same. I hugged him, and told him it was going to be alright. Why did I lie to him like that? The next day he was gone. I often wonder if she could have saved him. Would a good mother pick him up and drive him to the vet’s that night? And pay to have him saved? She has been upset several times because I forgot to water the horses. She says if I forget again, one will die. Some would say she is just being cautious. I say she is guilty. She knows that she could have done something to save him. But she never needs to know that I blame her.
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