This was a project in school where we had to take a short story we read in class and re-write it from a different perspective. It was a group project and just thought you guys may like it?
As a toddler, I remember my mother as a loving, warm, and dotting, person.
She would bake me the most delicious cookies every Sunday morning and every night she would read me the most fantastic stories.
Out of no where, around the time I turned seven, I noticed my mom seemed sad all the time. This is when I would find myself falling asleep earlier and earlier on Sunday afternoons.
Sometimes my tummy would hurt too.
Now I'm eight years old and my mom was in the garden today. She wants to have a flower bed.I saw the rod my mom was using to dig the bed and it reminded me of how I got here.
You see, those cookies my mom used to make me on Sunday afternoons has small amounts of arsenic. She thought I was dead, so she tried to bury me in her beloved flower bed.
I tried to dig my way out, but I was always shoved back down. The last time I was put down, my mother hit me with the rod she used to dig the flower bed. It hurt so bad, that I just gave up.
Now I live under the flowers my mother loved so much.