The Day I Going To Die: A Short Story

I was going to die.

I only had maybe ten minutes to free myself. It’s not my only memory of me trying to survive a life I didn’t choose for myself. I was eight years old when my mother decided she had enough of me. This was not the first or the last time she had decided if I could live or die. This time it felt like it was it. This time I was going to die.

My father left my mother and I when I was a baby, one year and 6 months old, to be specific. He should’ve stayed in Cape Verde where everyone was poor and helpless; where regardless if he didn’t have anything, he had me. My father is strong and too handsome for his age. He has beautiful, long, and complex curl patterns that frame his face whenever he leaves it out to breathe. He is very tall, taller than my mother and he is very fit since he works different labors. He has a long narrow nose that frames his diamond-shaped face. He has these emotional, deep, enchanting light brown eyes, which looks like honey and it makes you melt looking at it. He worked hard to provide for my mother and I until she drove him off. They fell in love young and not long after they had me. She was beautiful inside out and that is one of the many reasons why my dad fell in love with her.

A golden suntan usually brings out her smooth, clear complexion and high cheekbones. Her slightly arched brown eyebrows highlights all her emotions by moving up and down when she reacts to the world around her. Her large passionate green eyes, like the ocean’s color during a storm. Her curved nose gives her a little girl look that makes me want to smile when she talks. Her mouth is not proportional with her nose, but it is outlined by puffy lips that she often leaves bare. When she smiles, which is often, her well formed and even white teeth brightens up her whole