Posted by: DIYwriting | September 30, 2022

Monsters

Just after I died, I sat up.  I hadn’t expected my plan to go so well, but everyone had been convinced I was dead.  I knew I had precious little time to make it out of the house before everyone came back to do my final funeral preparations.  I knew my parents were especially suspicious and had always believed in the supernatural.  Ghosts were real and monsters actually lived under the bed.  I knew they would believe in the divine and the underworld and would have the most trouble with my supposed death and disappearance. 

But I had to go.  Had to make my break.  I knew the only way I was going to make a clean break from the life my parents planned was to completely disappear out of their lives.  If they believed I was dead, they would not look for me.  I half believed they would spread the lies that the monsters had taken me.  In all my twenty-three years, I had never figured out why they were so intent and steadfast in their belief that monsters were real.  That ghosts were real. 

But now I knew it was my only chance to get out and live. I just hoped they wouldn’t get it into their minds to check my credit cards and such. Though I worried the police might, but I would deal with that later. I just had to convince them I couldn’t go home and that dying was the only way to get away from my overprotective parents. As I tiptoed out of the room, I grabbed the bag I had hidden and walked straight out the back door. As I hurried toward the forest, I heard a scream from inside the house. I knew my mother had found my empty bed and hoped my plan would work. Little did I know, the real monsters were waiting for my return to the forest. To my former life. 


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