write about something thats happened t you

thid has never happened to me lmao im a teenaged girl from jersey i rushed this one sorry field but you still gave me an a

¨Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!¨, he exclaimed as I turned the corner into his bland apartment that sat, dilapidated, in the ghetto of Bucharest. It was 8:47 in the morning and his neighbors had called me concerned, claiming he hadn’t left the apartment in days.

¨S**t, look at you. What in the hell is going on?,”I asked. It was obvious that he hadn’t showered in quite some time. His typically gelled back almond colored hair was unruly and his porcelain complexion was masked by a faint layer of dirt. I could barely recognize him. I had known him for about 2 years, and have never seen him look this way.  He was the kind of guy who was always put together. It was heartbreaking to see anyone in such a disheveled state, but seeing him in pieces made my heart feel as though it had sat out in the sun for hours.

¨I dont know,” he snarked, as he took another swig of the cheapest whiskey he could get his veiny hands on. He was agitated at something. He tapped rhythmically and quickly on his bottle. ¨When I was a kid, like 13 I guess, I would smoke cigarettes in my backyard. They werent mine, I would jack them from my dad when he came to town. He smoked for ages. ¨

He moved to sit next to me.

Ḧave you eaten today? Did you brush your hair? It looks very nice, very nice for a change. Take a few euros from my jar, let me buy you a nice dress. Then we can get out of here. We can leave. Leave far away. No more Europe. No more America.  The Philippines look amazing.¨ he blasted. He looked at me, eyes wide and pleading.

Still recovering from the night before, I made very little sense of the words he threw at me. ¨What the hell are you on about? Have you eaten?,” i asked

¨Eat f*****g what? When? There’s no time. We have to leave.” he said.

I cleaned a pot and began boiling water for rice.

¨What happened to your dad?¨, I asked.

¨Oh right, well, my mom always said I was just like him. She didn’t talk much, but when she did it was about how I was just like him.  It was always in the morning” ,he paused, “when she’d tell me, you know, at the table. I’d eat my honey combs as she smoked a cigarette and watched another one of her boyfriends leave.¨ he stopped, ¨She said that I was so much like him that it hurt her. It did, really. It hurt her so bad, so I left one day. I was gone for about 6 years, but i drove past my old house a few days ago and just had to go in. Nothing on the outside really changed. I mean it was kind of dirty and viney, but my mom would have been 65 last May, so i wouldnt expect that she could upkeep it very well. Anyway, I went inside. The door was open, and you still had to wiggle the handle a little to get the door open, but regardless, I got in just fine. I walked through the door and man, it smelled so goddamn bad, LIke you wouldn’t even believe. I called out my mothers name a couple of times, and got nothing in response. I kept like, walking down the hallways, looking for my mom, but i came across my room. At this point, the smell was almost unbearable, it literally hurt to smell. So i went into my room. Everything was kind of the same. All of my posters on the wall and stuff like that. It was kind of dusty, but whatever. It just smelled so bad, I had to figure out what it was. I was looking through all of my old drawers, and thats when i found it. A tiny foot, laying right there in my underwear drawer. It had to be a kids foot. I should have called the cops, man, I know I should have, but i had to keep looking.  I opened my closest and there i found 3 bodies. 2 small bodies, kids, I guess. And a big one. My mom. It had to be. I ran right out of that room and went into my moms room. That’s where I saw my dad. Dead. Hanging from the ceiling fan. So I cut him down, took the half pack of smokes from his pocket, then brought him here. He’s in the bathroom.”, he looked up at me, taking a long drag.

“Oh, s**t”, I replied, and on went the day.