Previously I wrote about how I sought fulfilment in my life and I was looking for it in all the wrong places. With that, I realized I should go back to my roots as a writer and simply just write.

When I say write, I don’t just mean blogging articles for a specific economy or audience. I mean writing about what I truly want and that’s fiction.

Here’s something I created last week. I want to share it with you all. Hope you all like it!

To mom I’ve always been second place. First runner-up. The second resort. Only one of the loves of her life.

You know how some friends say they have more than one best friend, thereby undermining how best you really are? It’s not even like that with mom. I am not the best and I never will be to her.

I am just not that good.

There’s this other guy who’s first place in mom’s life. He’s the best. He does everything for her. He takes cares of her. He loves her more than I do. There’s no doubt about that.

I am jealous myself. I try to be like him, but I can’t. I told mom once that I’ll be like him one day, but she laughed right in my face.

“There’s simply no way dear” she said. “You’ll never be like him. He’s much too great. You may be my son, but it’s absolutely ridiculous that I’ll ever love you more than I love him.”

Those words pierced me hard. The other words, the everyday conversations she have with him, in the living room lingered like pollution. The words at the dinner table made the food foul. The rest of the words, done in the bedroom, cut through the air upwards towards the ceiling and spread like dust of lust.

I hate him. I always have and always will, with all my heart. It’s simply not fair. He wasn’t even around when I was born. He just showed up one day out of nowhere. Even at a young age, I didn’t see why he was allowed to be here in the house. And then mom said I had to obey him, no matter what, with all my heart.

Once I remarked to mom that I felt I had to disagree with him and what he teaches. “Just an inkling in my heart” I said. “Only a little” I repeated, meekly.

And then she slapped me and locked me in my room to tell me to think about what I said. “You’re lucky. This is nothing compared to his wrath!” she screamed.

Mom does not know I hate him with all my heart though. My hate must not be known. If mom finds out I hate being second place, she will send me away again.

But I hate being second place. My eyes has always been on the prize. Mom must be mine.

Now, how do I murder a god?

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