My mum and I are usually on good terms. Today, she spent with some women she hangs around with and when she came back, she told me about how they raved on about how good their kids were at tennis and how they were having a tournament to see who was the best out of them. She didn’t believe a word. I play tennis as well and they’d invited me up to play. Mum said I should go up and show them who’s boss so I reluctantly agreed to go along. As expected, they were shit.

Afterwards (about an hour ago), she was talking to one of her friends on the phone about "how nicely the day went" and she asked me how the other supposed prodigies played. I truthfully said they were shit. I was sick of her saying that they probably weren’t trying and it was only social match. I kicked their asses 6-0. When she ended the call, she went on and on to me about how that was a stupid thing to say and how the person she was talking to was the kid’s godmother. #%!@ that. I care why? She made a big deal about it...shouting and everything (uncommon with her).

She stormed out in a huff to go get some stuff for dinner. I formulated my revenge plan. I would fake my own suicide. I got a bottle of tomato sauce and squirted some on one of our kitchen knives. I took off my shirt and then I permanent marker-ed the puncture wound onto my pectoral. Over that I put my tomato sauce blood. You could only vaugely see the marker so it didn’t matter that it wasn’t perfect. I wrote my suicide note in shaky handwriting.

Dearest Mother,

I can’t take you anymore. Every time I see you, you are bitching at me for something. You don’t know this, but I’ve been getting a hard time at school. You’ve always told me I’ve had a strong character and didn’t want to dissapoint you by saying I can’t stand up to them. This is only one of the myriad of negativities that surround my life. You have tipped me over the edge.

Goodbye.

You know...the real guilt-coaster. I set it next to me with my knife and lay down onto the floor near the door, and awaited her return. I was squinting through my eye lashes to see the action. It looked like they were closed luckily.

About 5 minutes later she came back with the shopping. The blood had started trickling down my torso so it looked really realistic. She noticed me as she stepped in the door. She screamed. She looked down at the note and skimmed it.

She ran upstairs to find my dad or look to see if anybody else had seen what had happened (at least I think that’s what she did). She ran around the house looking for everyone. She then ran into the bathroom near my kitchen (where I was dead) and I heard her panting hysterically. She staggered over to the phone (probably to call an ambulance). She looked shocked rather than sad. Her face was completely white and her eyes were all wide. Beautiful.

Just as she was picking the phone up, I go "gotcha". She turned around in disbelief to where I was grinning, and looked really shocked...like she was in a dream. Then slowly (very, very slowly), she started laughing too. That sure broke the ice.

We’ve actually made up now and she said she thinks it’s hilarious. Good ol’ mum. Here I am typing this, as I wipe the remaining 1/5 of tomato sauce of my chest