Where Do They Exist?-Personal Narrative

As a young boy, my mom warned me of everything that I would be dealing with today. I guess mom knows best.
“Honey, some demons exist in the world,” My mother said with a tone of voice that sounded like a gasp, almost choking on her words as she blurted out the statement. “I get that you may not understand what I mean, but they do exist. Demons come in many shapes and forms.”
Little boy Cody asked,
“Why are you telling me this?” With a frown as down as a falling waterfall. He didn’t want to understand why.
“Just remember that, Cody.”
My mother kissed me goodnight. The next morning stayed in bed the entire day. It was Saturday, and I had a garbage day. These were days where I didn’t do anything. I would sometimes sit at the little desk in my
“How are you not doing better?" Another punch.
“What is this?” An uppercut of a doubt.
I always lived a happy life, and I didn’t think this is how it would play out. Being blind to hardship, I went back to sleep.
“Honey, we’re going to Lou’s house! The family is cooking mofongo, and I have my flan!” Also adding with, “Don’t use your phone every second like all you teens do!”
With excitement in her voice, my mom shuffled with her long high heels to get the caramel custard. As the bags under my eyes hung down like rain falling from the sky, getting ready for an event was the least of my priorities. I decided to take a walk before the gathering. The 80-degree weather let the greens flow, the swift breeze smacking the post that read the park’s closing time. The same voice that was in my head earlier came in a shadow, but quite literally. Rushing winds from the sandbox came at my face, blowing the swings backward. The shadow came up to me in disfigurement. Turning back and forth, diagonal and sideways, it said what I was thinking at that moment, but I didn’t realize it.
"Insecurity, pain, isolation, loneliness." A voice came from
I wanted to make my mom proud. I had avoided sharing my grades with her for a long time. I recognize the memory vividly. When I knew report card day was coming up, I would keep track of all the letters that came in the mail. Every week, heels clacking and dropping the rectangle monsters on the cylinder table in the living room. My mom would always be tired and exhausted from her work day, and I could tell by her sighs and groans. Nevertheless, she would always find time to greet me. As report card day came, it was once again another day where I checked the table and looked for the