What Mommy Doesn't Know.

Have you ever had that feeling? You know, the one in the bottom of your tummy that you have to get mommy to fix it. I hate that feeling. Sometimes I get that feeling when I’m trying to sleep at night. It starts when my mind starts to think things. Soon I get that feeling and sleeping gets hard. I wonder if she knows. Probably not. Dead people don’t think. And if they did, why would she think about me? There are better things to think about. Friends, memories, kitties. But the dead don’t think. Isn’t that sad? I think it’s sad. Mommy told me I think too much. Do you think so? She told me I think too much too, but it wasn’t in the same way mommy told me. I liked the way mommy told me I thinked a bunch. Now I think about how she died. No one ever told me. I don’t know if they know how she died, or if they just don’t want to tell me. When she died everything was a secret to me. People like to whisper a lot when people die. Mommy says it’s the polite thing to do. I don’t think so. When people whisper I like to make up things for what they’re not telling me. Sometimes I don’t like the things I make up. They make me feel that way again. I wonder if she ever felt that way. Probably. But not now. Mommy says she feels that a lot now since she’s gone. I don’t understand why mommy wasn’t there. It just sorta happened. I just remember being called out of class and then everyone telling me they’re so sorry. I still don’t understand why they’re sorry. I guess it’s just something you say when you have nothing else to say. I had nothing to say because nobody had nothing to say to me. Have you been woken up from your sleep because of something? Sometimes I wake up because my skin feels like it’s burning off, like a marshmallow in the campfire. Oozing off and dripping onto my covers. Really, it’s just all my heat stuck under the covers. I wonder if that happened to her. Did her skin just melt off? They wouldn’t let me see her. I’m not mature enough they said. I couldn’t handle it. I’m not mature enough? I’m the one who has to always explain things to mommy and daddy. They never understood anything without my explaining. I stopped explaining because it was annoying to tell them the same things over and over. Mommy liked to tell me over and over again I wasn’t mature enough to do this or that. What does she know? I am mature enough! So, I stopped listening to her. She never stopped listening. She was always the mature one. She got to do whatever she wanted. I guess I was a little jealous of her. I’m not jealous of her anymore. That was switched with the other feeling. I never meant it. I wonder if she knows. I don’t think so. Like I said the dead don’t think. They won’t. They can’t. When mommy found it in my room, she was upset. She cried and got angry. But not at me. Never at me. Always at daddy. That made him mad. Soon, they were mad at each other and I didn’t know why anymore. It was my fault. Everything’s my fault. I’m sorry mommy. I shouldn’t have had it! I’m sure you’ve had something bad in your room once! They didn’t understand. I thought I had put it out.