Start sobbing and ask her if you can move back home your so lonely you don't know what to do you think you might have gone insane oh god mother please i can't cope i can't cope i think i'm dreaming about a screaming boy i think i might have killed someone

After you cease your pathetic blubbering, several long moments pass. You begin to think your mother may have hung up the phone as she normally does when people express any emotion besides grief or elation. But after a time, she sighs. That long dreadful sigh in which you can clearly detect a lifetime of dashed hopes and familial frustration.

"Mother?" you ask.

"I'm here," she answers, exhaustion coloring her words. "You disappoint me, son." These words are not new to you. "It is time for you to be a man, like your father. If you have any hope of ever escaping that house, you must do what he did."

"What did he do?" you ask. You never knew your father. You have no idea what happened to him before you were born. Perhaps now...

Your mother whispers, "Open the fridge."


The End

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