Mom Was
Mom Was stories

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**Mom was racist.** She told me that my dad was a bad man — that he had no place in our lives — Just based off the way he looked.
By Haotty

Mom Was

by Haotty

**Mom was racist.**

She told me that my dad was a bad man — that he had no place in our lives — Just based off the way he looked.

She would constantly remind me how lucky I was that I didn't inherit the color of his skin.


**Mom was petty.**

Just mentioning dad's name would mean I would be grounded for a week. She totally hated him.

When I told the neighborhood boys about my dad, she boarded up my windows and even put some new locks on the front door.

She told me that it was to keep us safe, but I knew that it was because she was mad at me.

Sometimes I would unlock the door late at night when I knew she was asleep. I was determined to foil mom's attempts to keep me away from my dad.


**Mom was overspoken.**

That crazy old bat must've told everyone about how terrible she thought my daddy was, because I was told I wasn't welcome at school anymore.

I wasn't allowed to go outside either, because some of the parents I knew were angry at me. Mom was really upset when I told her our neighbor, Mr.

Johnson, threatened that he would kill me if he saw me near his daughter again.


**Mom was ungrateful.**

She was always complaining about how hard our life was because my "real father" left us before I was born.

Foolish woman.

Dad had always been out there, watching us from a distance, and he had given us so many things to be thankful for.

Perhaps he would've even saved her life had she been a bit more appreciative.


Mom **was** alive.

But now she isn't. It's my fault the front door was unlocked tonight. It's my fault I didn't bother to do anything when I heard them break through it.

But I was sick and tired of my mom. Her constant bad-mouthing really got on my nerves — It must've really ticked off Mr. Johnson and his friends too.

I didn't go anywhere near their kids but here they are in my hallway, their eyes filled with fear and disgust, their weapons slick with my mother's blood.

I don't feel bad — Mom was a bad person. Always talking about how evil Satan is; How his red skin, horns, and hooves make him a monster, not a person.

I don't think she could've ever comprehended how much I appreciate him for *creating* me — and how much he cares about me.


**Mom was wrong.**

Contrary to what mom always told me, I'm lucky to be Satan's son. Much luckier than Mr. Johnson and his friends, at least. My heart skips a beat as I hear the front door open and shut once more.

"Daddy's home!"

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