Tears

• Georgia Chiswell, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2013

As the teardrops run down my cheeks, I turn to face my son. Dead. Lying there with the shock in his eyes. I turn to face my daughter, Lizzy. Looks sad, not what I think she should be. She has that expression like she’s guilty for something. She might just be surprised that this happened. The event of my son lying dead on the muddy ground. Shot with a bullet right through his petite skull. The Press scurry to me like animals, asking me questions.
“How does it feel to lose your son?”
“Did you shoot him?”
“Who do you think this was?”
“Do something for CBS news. Please Mrs Rought!”
I stay silent. Incasing the dread of coming home to find my son. My only son on the ground. I correct one question.
“It’s Miss...” I shyly answer.
A lawyer trumps in. Her face with the perfect amount of make-up. Flowing silky blond hair. Dressed in a black jacket and skirt.
“I am Mrs Frin and I am here to help you in this case!’’
The sudden loyalty I get from her. Feels out of the ordinary. No one has stuck to my side. Even when being accused of stabbing my husband with a sharp knife. Someone’s now forgiving me. Her peckish smile and cheery attitude is as soft as a hug from my son.
Fourteen days later...
“Now Miss Rought, what happened when you came home?” Asks my lawyer.
“I opened the door... I saw my son... bleeding out blood!”
“Silence in my court!” Screams the judge.
“Next victim!’’
My daughter stands up as I slowly step out of the booth.
“Lizzy Rought. You say you were already home when the event occurred. What did you see?” Puzzles a lawyer.
“I heard a gun shot. Finished my shower. Ran downstairs to see my mother. Standing over him. Covered in his blood.’’ She spoke shyly.
“ And what had you done earlier in the day?” Questions the judge.
“I got up. Went to the gym. Got my hair dyed. I came home and had a shower.” Lizzy answers.
“Your Honor. May I subject.” Asks Mrs Frin
“Granted.”Agrees the judge.
Mrs Frin starts to question. “Lizzy Rought, how many times have you gotten your hair dyed?”
“I get one every 12 months.” Tells Lizzy.
“Aha!” Points and exclaims Mrs Frin “A user of hair dye for several years. Should know that you have to wait 24 hours until you get wet. Which means you wouldn’t be having a shower! Which means you would have time to run down stairs! That wouldn’t give Miss Rought enough time to hide the gun! So you would have found Diana Rought holding a gun in her hand!” My daughter starts to tear up.
“I didn’t mean to shoot him! I thought it was you who walked though the door! She points at me. Everyone’s on the opposite side of mine. I feel run down. My own daughter killed my son. I wonder if I’ll ever be normal.