“Carafina! Wake up. Your Dartmouth interview is in two hours!” I heard my mother’s voice call out.

As I awoke from my slumber, the aroma of fresh blueberry waffles permeated my cozy Brooklyn loft, and my fluffy bed under my body felt like a cloud. I rubbed my eyes, stretched, and rolled out of my fleecy bed. I then stepped into my oakwood kitchen and the warm breeze from the stove grazed my face. I pulled a seat from our dining room table, one of the only two seats, and I peered out the window. Bright titian, chestnut leaves fell onto the obsidian colored street, and droplets of rain pierced the window of my infinitesimal apartment.

“Hello!” my mother yelled, “Quit staring off into space and make sure you have everything you need for the interview!”

I rolled my eyes, and replied, “Yeah, yeah.”

“No,” my mother said, “This is not something you can yeah yeah about. Dartmouth University has an…”

“11.5% acceptance rate.” I interrupted, “ You’ve given me the same speech 100 times since I was 3 years old. I’m over it.”

My mother scowled at me and said, “Hurry up and get dressed.”

I took a bite out of my warm, sacchariferous, and fluffy waffle and said, “You know, if this whole Dartmouth thing doesn’t go so well, there’s always Juilliard.”

“Oh, brother. Not again with Juilliard. You can’t support yourself with some silly guitar. You’d think you’d finally realise your whole music dream is unrealistic by now. Why don’t you just grow up?” She said.

“You know, I’m sick and tired of you thinking you can determine my life.” I said.

She replied, “You live under my roof, so yes. I do determine your life.”

“It’s a sucky roof, if that.” I whispered under my breath.

“At least you have a home!” she hollered, “I can kick you out right now!”

“You know, you don’t have to because I’ll just run away.” I bellowed.

“Oh, really? And just give up Dartmouth? It’s your dream!” she roared.

“No, it’s your dream.” I hissed.

“If you walk out that door, you’ll ruin your life!” she howled.

“You’ve already ruined my life!” I cried as I grabbed my guitar and slammed the door behind me.

I paused outside our crimson front door and closed my eyes.  I could either walk back into the loft and live out my mother’s dream, or I could never look back and live my own. With my eyes still squeezed shut, I pictured myself in a dazzling silver dress that sparkled like a shooting star while being handed a Grammy. As I leaned in towards the microphone to give my thank you speech, the cheers of crowd chanted my name.

I knew what I had to do.

I slung my guitar over my back and began to stroll down the Brooklyn streets. The burning musty smell of stale cigarettes polluted my path, and the sight of corroding litter graffitied my surroundings. I was drenched in harsh rain, and I looked like I was staring in some mournful, dramatic music video. I began to shiver violently because the freezing rain stung my face as if I were frostbitten. However, I just continued to amble through the violent rain.

I stopped sauntering, and I sat against a decrepit, brick building and began to strum my guitar. As I played, I remembered how beautiful the world around me looked from inside my cozy, comforting loft. Now that I was outside of the home that was no longer my own, the world looked so grungy and repugnant. The mixture of the cacophonic sounds of taxi honks and locals bickering muffled my music, so I set my guitar down next to me. All I could do was listen to the angry curse words of strident, harsh road ragers and the violent, sharp sounds of gunshots.

As I sat against the brickred building, I saw a bald man, with a dark ebony beard approach me. He had a sinister grin which revealed his crooked teeth. He was clothed in an oversized trench coat and charcoal combat boots. He grew closer and closer, and he rubbed his hands together malevolently. I felt a sense of foreboding, and I immediately searched for a way to escape his presence. On the side of the brick building, there was a teal door. The inviting door called my name. It begged me to go inside. The door almost pulled me in. I decided it was the safest thing to do, so I swung the door open as it’s rusty hinges creaked. Inside was a deserted cash register, with four wooden tables, and a cleaver in front of what seemed to be the backdoor. I darted through the backdoor and hid behind it, trying to be as hushed as a mouse. This room was pitch black and was also much more frigid than the actual building. The air was freezing and it felt like I was caught in a blizzard. I then pushed my ear up against the door to hear what was going on.

CRRREEEEK. SLAM!

I squeezed my eyes shut, crossed my fingers, and held my breath.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The sound of heavy, bulky footsteps grew louder and louder. Then, they stopped. I didn’t dare make a sound, and a brief moment of silence filled the frosty air. I pressed my ear closer against the door, and listened more intently. Then, before I knew it, the door swung open. My face slid off the door and onto the concrete floor. My skull ached from such a heavy fall. The cold air turned warm, and the darkness turned to light. I looked up to find the mysterious man standing before me. Then, I felt his black combat boot scrape the side of my face as he kicked me. The feeling of his rubber boot slam against my face and the taste of dirt and rubber made me sick to my stomach. The room grew blurry, and all I could see was the knife on the floor spinning in circles. Then blackness filled my eyes, and I rolled over.

SLAM!

I opened my closed eyes, and a feeling of shock and panic traveled through my body.

“Where am I?” I thought.

I looked around and saw that I was still inside the brick building. Then, I looked down at my body. I was seated in one of the wooden chairs from one the wooden tables, and a khaki rope was strictly tied around my body and the chair. I licked my lips, and I tasted a saline liquid. The liquid was thick, and I could feel it drip out of my nose and onto my lap. It was a maroon liquid, and I knew my face must’ve been covered in blood because if his violent kick. Then, the man came into the building from inside the backdoor. As the door swung open, I realized that it was not a backdoor after all. It was a freezer, and the repulsive smell of a rotting corpse stung my nostrils.

“Prepare to live in that freezer with the guy I just put in there. Or should I say die?!” the man said in between villainous laughs. 

“Please let me go!” I begged.

He let out a heckle, and said, “ You see. That’s not how a murderer works, but if it makes you more comfortable, I’ll go kidnap someone on the street to kill in addition to you.”

He then left the building and I could hear his evil snicker fade off into the distance. All I could do was weep. I could taste my salty tears as they rolled down my cheeks. Onto the floor, each individual tear splashed. Looking down on the falling tears, they reminded me of the rain that trickled down my loft window just moments before I left my mother. I could see myself, sitting at my wooden dining table in the comfortable loft while I watched the raindrops slide down my window. My mother’s smile showed her proudness, and our loft was full of ecstaticness. I remembered the very conversation that led me here, to my very own death bed. I remembered my mother’s homemade waffles. She only made them on days when she knew I would be nervous or anxious, such as my first day of kindergarten and today. Her smile on my first day of kindergarten and her smile this morning mimicked each other, and the sight flooded my mind. All I could do was remember her, the woman I would never see again.

My cries turned into sobbs at the thought of never seeing my mother and all I could think of was how much I regretted leaving her. She only wanted the best for me. She meant well; I wished I could time travel back to this morning when the aroma of blueberry waffles filled the home that was safe, warm, and comforting. I wish I could’ve went to that Dartmouth interview and made my mother proud. I pictured myself being handed a Dartmouth diploma as my mother sat in the front row, crying. Her cries flooded my mind and my ears. Her cries grew louder and louder. Her cries filled the room. Her cries felt so real.

Then, within her cries, I heard her call out, “Carafina!”

I briskly turned around, and there was my mother! She was in the arms of the strange man that tied me up! He violently threw her into a chair, and began tying her up.

“So I guess we don’t need any icebreakers. You ladies seem to be acquaintances.” he joked.

“You let go of my daughter!” my mother demanded.

“What a small world. I guess mom’s gonna die with her little girl. This will be great in the news. Well, as long as I’m not in the story.” The man taunted.

As he tied up my mother, I held my tears back and looked around the room for a solution. Then, I remembered the knife that I saw next to the freezer when I first entered the building.

Since the man was tying up my mom with his back facing me, I mouthed the word “Stall” to my mother.

THUMP!

My mother fell to the ground, and they rope fell untied.

“Great, I have to tie you up again, you idiot! Now, quit moving before I kill you first!” He yelled.

I smiled at my mom’s sharp intelligence and continued with my plan. As soundless as possible, I scooted my chair back towards the freezer until the knife was within reach. After I scooped the knife up into my hands, I began cutting through the rope until I was free. The rope slid off my body, and I tiptoed behind the man. As he was tying the rope, I lifted the knife up and stabbed him in the back of his bald head. He fell to his side, and he instantaneously died. I handed my mother the knife whilst I stood in the puddle of his beet red blood. 

Once she cut herself free from her rope, I hugged her tight and asked, “What were you doing out in the rain on the streets?!”

“Looking for you.” she replied.

“Oh, Mom!” I yelled. “I’m so sorry for…”

“It’s fine!” she interrupted, “You’re okay and that’s all that matters.”

We both smiled, and I said, “Well, lets get outta here! I’ve got a Dartmouth interview to go to!”

My mother and I ran off into the distance. The beautiful bright graffiti lit up my life, and the falling leaves sprinkled the streets like confetti. The once gloomy rain felt like a refreshing shower as it washed the blood off my face. As the blood washed off, so did my unhappiness. While in that current state of Nirvana, I realized that if I never would’ve gone through that teal door, I would’ve never been where I am today.