The Spoiled Kid

Fiction By Aredhel Írissë // 12/22/2013

I have no idea when I wrote this. I don't even remember writing it, but hey. So when I read it, I was doing my best not to laugh, because just yesterday (12/21/13) I went ice-skating for the first time in my life, and so if you've been ice-skating before, then you probably know what it's like...so anyways, my stomach mussels are aching (I'm sore all over) so it was very hard not to laugh at this story, because laughing makes my stomach ache. I never finished this story, so maybe one day I will, but right now this will do. I hope you like it :)

When I was nine, I didn't know what the word 'spank' meant. I had never heard it before. But I knew what the word yell meant.

My mother would say in a sweet voice, filled with sadness, "Darling Sara, Please don't yell so. You are giving me a headache. And you don't want me to be sad, do you?" In truth, I didn't care. She knew it. I knew how to holler just right so that my voice wouldn't get hoarse. My mother often spoke to people about how I could "Holler all day long and not be any the worse for it." It was quite true. I had done it once when I hadn't gotten a tea set that I wanted. I didn't like it and had hollered. Of course, I never said please, because that was a word for Mom and Dad to use. "Darling, please be happy with one lollipop. Please Sara, not another snack, you'll get sick." I was almost fifteen and I know my parents knew they had made a mistake. I still threw tantrums when I didn't get my way. I had heard my mom talking to dad about it.

"The poor child. I wish she would stop being selfish. I feel as if I am to blame," My mom had said.

"I'm afraid no one will want to marry her. It's too late now, she wouldn't understand," My dad said.

I heard my mom crying and my dad soothing her. I have always wondered if she was crying because I would never experiance the joy of getting married or because I would always live at home, throwing tantrums till I was one hundred. I didn't really care though. My home was quite comfortable and my parents did their best to calm my tantrums and bend to my every whim. So, they continued trying to make me happy, and I continued throwing tantrums. My mom tried very hard not to say anything to me about it.

On my fifteenth birthday, my mom and dad took me to see great aunt Karen. We had a great time, telling stories and eating fried chicken and chocolate cake. Until my mom said no more cake. Sure, I had already eaten six peices. But there was only one peice left. And, well, why couldn't I have it?

My mom was dreadfully upset. She started to cry. My dad put his arm around her and kissed her. Then he led her out to the car to calm down in quiet.

There I was, all alone, with my great aunt. It was the first time I had ever seen her that I could remember, but it made no difference. My hollering continued until she came around the table and taking hold of my shoulders, shook me a little and said, "I hope you have ten children all like yourself!" I stopped yelling. I hiccupped and looked at her for a second.

Was she threatening me? It took me less than a second to decide she was, and run sobbing to my mother, the cake forgotten. Of course I had no idea that her 'threat' was a little more than that. As my mother held me in her arms, trying to understand my words, I suddenly realized I was indeed quite alone. I was laying on my stomach in the grass.

My eyes popped open and I screamed. I was not outside my great aunt Karens house. I was not even in the city. I was in the country. I sat up. About a hundred yards away from me, a man was standing beside a horse and plow. I knew it was a plow because I had watched almost all the movies on the planet. Including little house on the prairie. He had obviously heard me scream because he had stopped the horse and was now running towards me. At first I wanted to run, but I didn't. When he got near me he said, "Are you all right?"

I hiccuped. Was I alright? I had been transported as if by magic to a different time. Only I didn't realize that part at first. "No, I'm not." I sniffled. "I want my mom. And I want to go home." He looked sympathetically at me and said "Where do you live?"

"112th beaver st."

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that place. What town?" "

Navigation

User login

Please read this before creating a new account.