Misses You
Author: Winter Violet
Challenge: Pomegranate # 21 Working Late and Strawberry Cheesecake # 6 pen
Topping: Whipped Cream
Word Count: 501
Story: Little Detective
Rating: G
Summary: Megan Carter, before reaching the top of her enigmatic game, was quite an uncontrollable little wild child when she was younger.
Notes: I didn’t know how to continue the earlier entry but...well, here goes nothing...
The night seemed to have been croaking, not from frogs, but from the pit of silence. Megan couldn’t sleep after the night’s broadcast; her mom had bawled into complete sadness and naturally, that made her very sad, too. Her father hadn’t called yet, and she was still hoping he would.
“Megan, it’s 2 o’ clock. You need to get your rest.”
“So do you,” Megan remarked. “You look even worse.”
Mrs. Carter smiled happily after the three hours of misery. “What’s wrong?”
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Megan asked her mother who was in the kitchen, drinking coffee yet again. The bags under her eyes were huge, and they looked pretty heavy; in fact, they were the heaviest bags Megan had seen in her entire life.
Mrs. Carter gazed at her daughter, “Why, honey? You scared?”
“Well, not exactly,” Megan replied. She couldn’t tell her mom that she wanted to sleep next to her. Megan knew she would get lonely even more. She felt guilty after making her mother sad. She was the one who placed the shells in her mom’s drawer. She knew her mother would cry. She knew Mrs. Carter was sensitive with stuff like these.
“Are you mad at me, mom?”
“No, of course you can sleep next to me,” she reassured quickly.
“I placed the shells on your desk,” Megan confessed, the guilt fighting its way. “I’m sorry. I knew you would cry. But that’s it. It was better for me to see you cry for dad to come back than to see you feeling so numb and blank about hoe he left us. You were always better at smiling but I had no other choice but to let you beg dad to come home.”
She hugged Megan tightly, then gently kissing her head. “I’m not even sure if your dad heard the news.”
“Oh, he did hear it. I’m sure. He always does and he never misses it,” Megan told her. “Dad loves you very much.”
“Sweetie, I wish it was that simple, but it’s...not. It’s complicated, Meggie. You wouldn’t understand even if I try to explain it to you.”
“Try me,” she dared to know the truth.
She sighed. “I...I can’t. You’re too young to understand that.”
“Did dad do something terrible beyond anything?”
Mrs. Carter smiled, “Megan, I really should be getting back to writing our script for tomorrow. I also do Noon shows, remember? C’mon, go to bed. I’ll get to you when I’m done. Hurry now...”
Megan was ushered towards her parents’ bedroom, still big and scented, although it lacked some of her father’s stinky socks and month-old neckties her dad had owned.
Sleepily, she climbed into the covers and tried to sleep. Her mother, still sniffing, tucked her in, kissing her forehead, and saying her goodnights. After that, all Megan could hear, even when she was on her dream mode, was the scribbling of her mother’s pen on the paper and the clock’s annoying ticking before she had fitfully fallen asleep.
Challenge: Pomegranate # 21 Working Late and Strawberry Cheesecake # 6 pen
Topping: Whipped Cream
Word Count: 501
Story: Little Detective
Rating: G
Summary: Megan Carter, before reaching the top of her enigmatic game, was quite an uncontrollable little wild child when she was younger.
Notes: I didn’t know how to continue the earlier entry but...well, here goes nothing...
The night seemed to have been croaking, not from frogs, but from the pit of silence. Megan couldn’t sleep after the night’s broadcast; her mom had bawled into complete sadness and naturally, that made her very sad, too. Her father hadn’t called yet, and she was still hoping he would.
“Megan, it’s 2 o’ clock. You need to get your rest.”
“So do you,” Megan remarked. “You look even worse.”
Mrs. Carter smiled happily after the three hours of misery. “What’s wrong?”
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Megan asked her mother who was in the kitchen, drinking coffee yet again. The bags under her eyes were huge, and they looked pretty heavy; in fact, they were the heaviest bags Megan had seen in her entire life.
Mrs. Carter gazed at her daughter, “Why, honey? You scared?”
“Well, not exactly,” Megan replied. She couldn’t tell her mom that she wanted to sleep next to her. Megan knew she would get lonely even more. She felt guilty after making her mother sad. She was the one who placed the shells in her mom’s drawer. She knew her mother would cry. She knew Mrs. Carter was sensitive with stuff like these.
“Are you mad at me, mom?”
“No, of course you can sleep next to me,” she reassured quickly.
“I placed the shells on your desk,” Megan confessed, the guilt fighting its way. “I’m sorry. I knew you would cry. But that’s it. It was better for me to see you cry for dad to come back than to see you feeling so numb and blank about hoe he left us. You were always better at smiling but I had no other choice but to let you beg dad to come home.”
She hugged Megan tightly, then gently kissing her head. “I’m not even sure if your dad heard the news.”
“Oh, he did hear it. I’m sure. He always does and he never misses it,” Megan told her. “Dad loves you very much.”
“Sweetie, I wish it was that simple, but it’s...not. It’s complicated, Meggie. You wouldn’t understand even if I try to explain it to you.”
“Try me,” she dared to know the truth.
She sighed. “I...I can’t. You’re too young to understand that.”
“Did dad do something terrible beyond anything?”
Mrs. Carter smiled, “Megan, I really should be getting back to writing our script for tomorrow. I also do Noon shows, remember? C’mon, go to bed. I’ll get to you when I’m done. Hurry now...”
Megan was ushered towards her parents’ bedroom, still big and scented, although it lacked some of her father’s stinky socks and month-old neckties her dad had owned.
Sleepily, she climbed into the covers and tried to sleep. Her mother, still sniffing, tucked her in, kissing her forehead, and saying her goodnights. After that, all Megan could hear, even when she was on her dream mode, was the scribbling of her mother’s pen on the paper and the clock’s annoying ticking before she had fitfully fallen asleep.