The Day I Died

by E.B. Black

But it hurt sometimes how much I was becoming like my dad. I called my mom stupid all the time behind her back; sometimes I’d even get the bravery up to say it to her face. I was moody like he had been. I’d tried drinking with Samantha once; the wine tasted bad, but it felt fantastic afterward! And then I tried to kill myself. Couldn’t get more like my dad than that!