More To That

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More To That
Human Parts
Published in
28 min readAug 18, 2020

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My earliest childhood memory was stressful.

I was about five years old, and it started with me waking up from an afternoon nap.

Since I was a child with many needs, the first thing I did was ask for my mom.

Historically in my past five years of existence, calling for her with a sniffly tone meant that I would see her relatively soon. Sometimes I’d have to call for her a few times but never more than 10.

But on this day, I hit well over 10, and Mom was still nowhere to be seen.

At that point, I got my ass out of bed and ventured out to the other parts of the house. With each room and space I entered, I would seep out a whimpering call for Mom—each one becoming more hopeless than the last.

After hitting up every room, it started dawning on me that Mom wasn’t there. My dad wasn’t there either. Not even my younger brother.

Everyone was gone.

As this realization detonated in my brain, I slowly made my way back up to my bed.

“Where is everyone?”

“Are they ever going to come back?”

“Am I here alone… forever?”

With that final question, I let out the biggest sob ever recorded in toddler history. My tears mixed with nose mucus as this stream headed toward my mouth, making this experience even shittier. I pounded my mattress, made Chewbacca noises, and writhed…

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