Simba

It is 4:31 pm where I am right now.

I can’t remember a whole lot about my child hood, but what I do remember I wish I could erase from my mind. The things I can’t stop dreaming about at night.
When I was little my father had come home with the fluffiest, cutest and absolutely most adorable dog ever. I named her Simba, after the lion king. She was MY dog and I loved her, I walked her every day, I fed her every night and she was my family. My mother and father broke up, leaving my mother with a house she couldn’t afford and a lot of debt, so we moved into a duplex leaving Simba in the old house while it sold. Slowly my mother stopped giving me money to buy dog food; she refused to spend her little money on the dog that had been such a big part of our life. It is like she viewed Simba as a product of my father and she just wanted to leave that dog alone in the house, shitting itself and starving to death. I started stealing from my mother, 20 dollars a month; I would bike 5 km to the nearest grocery store and buy dog food for Simba. Eventually though, she got sick and I wasn’t able to steal the money to get her better, I told my mother and three days later WITHOUT telling me, she got her put down.

I hate my mother to this date, she did something that I don’t think a person with a conscience could do.

Yours truly, Simply 17