Hey y’all! This snippet is one I wrote for a writing competition. It did not win, nor did it get close to winning, but I know someone out there will like it, even if the judges (and I) didn’t. Bon appetit!

When my mother died, I thought I knew who she was. I came into our shop from school and saw her on the floor with a gun in her hand and a dead body across the room. I fell onto her, and the terrified tears running from my eyes and blurred my mother’s face.“What’s happened, Momma?!” She shook her head.
“This place, these people…” she looked into my eyes. “It’s all a lie, darling. Everything… everyone. It’s all wrong.”
I could hear sounds from the back. Someone was coming. My mother grabbed my chin, her strength still powerful despite her wounds. “Listen to me, now.” Her eyes were wide and frenzied. “When I say, climb out the window and run. Do not try to help me, do not tell anyone where I am or who you are.” Her grip tightened. “And do not, do not ever stop running.” She stared into me, and that stare felt like she was sending all of her power, all of her fighting, all those years of revolution into my eyes. Footsteps outside got closer. “They’re coming. Tell me you understand.”
Everything inside me, everything I was and knew and loved felt murdered. All of the new emptiness that filled me and hurt me and poured out of my eyes told me not to leave my mother. But somehow I knew I would either leave or die. “I understand.”
My mother squeezed my hand. “I love you.”
I couldn’t speak. I have thought of many things I wish I had said, but nothing came in that moment. I just squeezed her back, wiped my eyes, and stood.
As I climed out of the window, I heard a gunshot, and in my head I could see my mother’s smile.