Live: From the Grave

A dream of an opinion.

Photo by Tina Hartung on Unsplash

“I’m not coming back,” I told my mom and dad. My knees rolled and ground over the linoleum floor. I struggled to breathe. I couldn’t see through it. I shuffled through the blue bag: “don’t need that, don’t need this. Yes! Keep this,” I whispered fast.

“Peter. Here’s two-hundred dollars. Take this in case,” my mom paused as our eyes locked. My hand on the bills.