PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Cynthia adjusted her rearview mirror as she cruised down the interstate, whizzing past all the cars in her way, her long blonde hair blowing in the wind. The stereo in her little red Trans- Am convertible was cranked as high as it could go. She knew that every car within a mile or two of her car could clearly hear the piercing sound of Dexter Holland's voice, but she couldn't care less. She just kept driving. Just hours ago, She'd crossed the American border, without a destination in mind. To her, it didn't matter where she ended up, just as long as it was as far from home as possible. Not a soul knew where she was.. no one was even aware that she'd left her home in beautiful British Columbia.. not even her own mother. It didn't matter to Cynthia, for they'd never got along anyway. Her Mother was a vindictive, spiteful woman.





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    "Cynthia! CYNTHEEAAAAAHHHH!" Her mother called as she burst through the front door, drunk as a skunk, "You better be in bed, yuh little devil!" Six year old Cynthia was in her bedroom, brushing her long blonde hair with slow, careful strokes, as her mother hopelessly attempted to climb the stairs. She'd drunken herself mad for the umpteenth time, and cynthia knew that if her mother reached her room, she would be in more trouble than the average six year old child could ever imagine. The little girl carefuly laid down her brush. Even though she knew she couldn't escape her drunkard of a mother, she tip toed accross her powder pink carpet, and quickly hid under her powder pink covers.



    Since Cynthia could remember, her mother was always either completely intoxicated, or not around at all. Of course, when her mother was actually around, it was usually because she had just got back from the bar or a loud party. She always looked forward to her mother coming home.. and she'd always say to herself, "When mommy gets home, everything will be good." Her mother would always stumble through the front door, barely able to keep her balance as she attempted to climb the stairs to Cynthia's bedroom. When she reached the top, she'd peek into her daughter's bedroom to make sure she was asleep. If Cynthia was not asleep, her mother would do horrible things to her.. One time, Cynthia's mother discovered that her daughter was not yet in dreamland, and went completely ballistic. She marched over to Cynthia's bed, and slapped the poor child accross the face.. That was only the beginning. Cynthia had been thrown down the stairs, thrown into walls and doors, picked up by the ears, slapped, punched, kicked, - she'd even had heavy objects hurled in her direction. And yet, those things were nothing in comparison to what happened the night Cynthia had been awake at her night table, brushing her beautiful, silky hair.





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    She continued to drive down the open road, throwing all caution to the wind. The fair haired eighteen year old really didn't give a toss, as to where she'd end up, or even what her mother would think.. She just wanted to get away.. from her insane, permanently inebriated mother. Cynthia glanced at the signs as she passed them. "I'm going to drive until I run out of gas," She said to herself. "There is no way I am going to stop before then. It's just too risky.. for all I know, mom's probably contacted the police by now.. Every border crossing in Canada has probably been notified of my disappearance, knowing her." Then, as she reached  over, to put in yet another Offspring CD, a sign caught her eye. It read: Oregon - 7 miles. She squealed with joy. "Nothing will stop me now!" Cynthia shouted, as she stepped on the gas even harder. She was relieved, for she now knew that she was safe from her mother. Cynthia suddenly felt invincible.. as though nothing could stop her. This was a feeling she was definitely not used to. In the Eighteen years that she'd lived with her mother, she had grown accustom to feeling extremely vulnerable and helpless.



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    Six year old Cynthia clinged to her sheets, trying desperately to appear asleep. Even though she knew with all that she was, that she was in big trouble, and nothing was going to help her now. What could she do? She had continued to trust her mother.. despite the way she was treated by her, and she always would.. but there was nothing she could do to stop her. She was as vulnerable as a newborn baby. She closed her eyes tight, and prayed to Jesus with all her heart, soul, and mind. She heard a creak at the top of the stairs, then, right outside her door. Her mother had already reached the top, and she held tight, trying to ignore the fact that her crazy, drunken bum of a mother was right there, reeking of cigarrettes, and cheap bourbon. Cynthia peeked out of her blankets, just to see if her mother was still at her door. it was too late. Her mother had already entered her room, and was obviously enraged. "What in christ's name are you doin up this late, you worthless piece of trash?!?!?!" Cynthia started to tremble. "I-" She started to say. Interrupting her daughter, Cynthia's mother said "That's it! I've warned you time and again, shithead! This time, you're really gonna get it!" Then, without any warning as to how dangerous her next move was going to be, she took her hand which had been behind her back the whole time, and revealed what was in it. Cynthia saw what it was, and began to panic. She prayed in her head, "Oh God, please, please don't let mommy hurt me, please. She's got a knife, God. Please, Jesus, someone.. please, send one of your angels down to help me!" The poor little girl screamed in terror as her mother raised the silver and black weapon above her head. Her mother's arm came down, and Cynthia closed her eyes.



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    Cynthia remembered that night like it had only been yesterday. She had tried in vain to get rid of it. No matter what she did, it wouldn't go away. She had even shelled out several hundred dollars of her hard - earned money on hypnosis, just to forget about it.. but it continued to haunt her. She peeled off her jean jacket, and threw it in the back seat of the car. When her arms were bare, Cynthia, paying no attention to the road, glanced down at her left arm. Tears filled her eyes. She hadn't looked at her arm in a while, and she'd always tried not to do so. After that night, the skin on that arm had never been the same. The scar from her mother's horrific attack had remained the same.. it wouldn't go away, and Cynthia loathed it. She had tried every kind of cream and gel a person could find, in hopes that it would clear it up. Since nothing worked, Cynthia hadn't taken off her long sleeved shirts in public until now. She was so mesmerized by her left arm, that she payed absolutely no attention to the road.



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Back at Cynthia's home, Ms. Linden sat on her bed crying with a picture of her missing daughter in her hand. She had finally realised for the first time in her life, that what she had done was wrong. Although Cynthia wasn't aware, (because they hadn't spoke for quite some time) her mother had been going to church for the past six months, and trying very hard to change. She had even begun to attend alcoholics anonymous meetings.. But she hadn't told her daughter any of this. She now wished she had.. or at least reassured Cynthia that she really did love her, and that she was truly sorry. Ms. Linden cried hysterically, hoping and wishing with all her heart, that her only child was alright. "When she comes home, everything will be good," she said to herself, trying to stay as hopeful as possible.



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    Cynthia heard a siren behind her, and looked in her rearview mirror. It was the police. "Oh great." she thought, "My mother really did call the police!" She pulled over. A police officer got out of his car, and sauntered up to Cynthia's.  " Can I see some identification?" He said, sternly. "uhhhh..." Cynthia trailed off. "Ma'am, I'd like to see your drivers licence and registration, please." Cynthia took a deep breath, and reached into the glove compartment, where she kept all her I.D. She feared that if she showed this figure of authority her identification, she'd be deported back to her mother.. but, now, it didn't matter to her. All her feelings of being invincible and safe had faded. Despite that, in that instant, she suddenly felt that her mother loved her and cared about her, and if there was that, well, everything would have a way of.. being good.





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    Ms. Linden's Phone Rang. She jumped up immediately to answer it. "Yes?!" She said hopefully into the telephone. "We've found Cynthia!" The voice on the other end of the phone exclaimed. Ms. Linden talked to the officer for a couple of minutes, and then, was on her way to Oregon, on the next plane. She arrived there only four hours after she'd got off the phone with the officer. They'd flown her over in the emergency private jet. When she got to the police station, she went up to the from desk, and asked where her daughter was. "Oh! She's gone for icecream with constable Gergwyn!" The receptionist told her. A police officer took her to the icecream place to meet her daughter. She saw her daughter walking down the street alone, and was delighted. "Cynthia! Cynthia!" she called. "Mom.. Mommy!" Cynthia answered back, as she caught a glimpse of her mother. They ran toward eachother, unbelieveably happy to see eachother now. It didn't matter what had happened in the past. The bond between that mother and daughter could never be broken, and they'd work things out, no matter what happened. A black car was coming towards Cynthia, who was still on the sidewalk, running towards her mother. It had blacked out windows, and she couldn't see the driver. She was curious as to what kind of car it was, so she looked closer.



    Suddenly, Cynthia heard a loud bang, and she felt a deathly, excruciatingly painful blow to the left side of her chest. Her mother kept running, and was now screaming and crying. Cynthia had been shot in the chest, and fell backwards with the impact of the blow. Ms. Linden ran to her side, and took her in her arms. "Cynthia, my baby, my only baby.. you are going to be okay! Stay with us, Cynthia! Everything's going to be alright, okay, my darling?!"  Cynthia lay in her mother's arms, motionless, beginning to cough up blood. "Mom-my," she managed to say, "I love you mom-my........... I'm sorry, mommy." Cynthia's head flopped down, and Ms. Linden just knew her daughter was gone.



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    Cynthia crossed the beautiful, flowery field, to the dazzling city of golden streets, beyond the pearl gates. She was happy where she was, but there was just something missing. She thought for a moment, then she said to herself, "When mommy gets home, everything will be good."