My Mama Told Me When I Was Young Novels & Stories

ELIANA. My grandmother used to tell me I was different since I was young. She'd sit me down when I felt so devastated and dispirited and tell me—"You're going to be okay" I'd like to think that she sounded a lot like my mother, she was the only thing I had that linked the both of us.

McKenna’s POV “Tell me the story again, mama!” I begged. “You’ve heard me tell the story a million times, pup,” my mother chuckled. “Please!” I begged. “Okay,” she smiled. I cozied up on her lap in anticipation of one of my favorite tales of the past. It was my favorite story even if I didn’t completely understand it. The world we lived in seemed quite complicated. “Settle down, little one,” my mother chuckled. “Sorry, I’m just excited, mama,” I laughed.

she replied. Mama is right though but she may not understand because she used to be a ru-ged girl when she was young, and she's used to this things not until she met papa and he calmed her down. "Mama but you have never explained this things to me o. All you do is teach holiness. If a man touch you, you'll get pregnant" I said.

She was smiling, and I looked at my mother who stood frozen in place. She didn’t dare come any closer. Then I walked over and dropped to my knees in front of Maddie so I could look into her beautiful eyes. “Darling, remember when you and I had a conversation, and you asked me about your grandmother? You really wanted to meet her. Remember what I said to you then?” “Yes, Mommy. You told me that grandma lives far away and that the first chance she gets she’d come to see me.” “Good girl! And what else did I tell you?” I asked, trying hard to hold back my tears.

I can't believe my question. I thought I was just lost then, but I couldn't seem to cope when my own mother probably sold me. And she's pushing drugs for fuck's sake. "Life was really hard for us back then .. I can't give you a good life, but I'm trying." I remained dumbfounded as papa spoke, "Your mama said shee would visit her friend in Manila to borrow money, she came home with a hundred thousand .. but she is no longer with you,"

I could feel him behind me the way you felt a presence that was being deliberately still, giving you the room you needed without disappearing from it. I looked at the city. And my mother's voice came. .... Not as a memory exactly. More like a tide. Starting somewhere deep and rising slowly through everything, carrying pieces with it as it climbed. I was six years old and she was tucking me in and I asked her why we didn't have a daddy and she was quiet for a long moment and then she said some people are not built for staying and left it there because six was too young for the rest of it.

Something he was not telling me. I shook my head and set the brush down. I was being ridiculous. I was looking for problems where there were none. I pulled open the drawer of my small dresser and reached for a clean shirt, and as my fingers brushed against the fabric, a memory surfaced. I was sitting on my mother's lap, maybe five years old, and she was stroking my hair and telling me about the night I almost died. "A small beast almost killed you," she had said, her voice soft and sad. "It was the scariest night of my life. You were sitting on the steps, and this creature came out of the forest, covered in blood, and I thought I was going to lose you."

Their interactions were riddled with pain and anguish, a nightmarish spectacle that haunted me. "Don't ever say you won't find love," my mother would often tell me, her voice filled with conviction. "Your father and I had some good memories amidst the hard times. But I promise you, once you find your mate, you will treat her well, and your love will blossom. You are a good person."

Cheese was going to be my new favorite food. "Mommy, where did you go today?" I finally asked once my tummy was full. She wiped my mouth, then hers, and gave me the most peaceful smile. "Remember I told you? Someone had reached out to me," she said. "Someone has reached out to me, and they told me they can help me," she said, looking away from my face. "Help you with what?" I asked, curious and confused. I had no idea what she meant. "I need to tell you the truth," she began, making me narrow my eyes at her. I still didn’t understand.

Her passing had left my father heartbroken, and I could still remember the depth of his sorrow, even though I was just a child at the time. As I gazed at the portrait, memories of my childhood came flooding back, and the story of my mother's tragic fate replayed in my mind like a haunting melody. My father had told me the truth about her death when I was old enough to understand, and the pain of that revelation still lingered.