

Flintridge sacred heart
Young Writer's Society
presents
Verité
2021-2022
Bad Omen
by Angelina Arevalos
Brushing my teeth, splashing my face with the cool, calm water,
removing any toxins my pores felt like gathering that day, then
heading off to bed, slipping into my warm cotton sheets,
hugging me and loving me more than my mother ever had,
trying every remedy and technique for sleep, hoping that
insomnia would release me tonight like a judge releasing an
innocent prisoner, it finally did. My brain rushed off into a
psychedelic cloud, so I didn’t see a single glimpse of the birds chirping.
I did, however, hear the spirits in my room.
The spirits enjoy playing tricks on me,
knowing I’m the first to feel an earthquake, they tug on my strings
like puppet masters till dawn, but that day it was close to 4, and so they
eagerly tugged the sheets off of me, however this time it wasn’t the
spirits, but the black cat my mother’s husband brought into our house,
pulling all the warm loving sheets, furiously off of my skin, the cats green eyes met my brown ones piercingly, so he crawled away. Running straight towards the door,
feeling it get farther, slowly beginning to to turn the lock, there I stood,
hearing the cat’s quiet footsteps, I ran back into bed, waiting for the morning rays to shine
through my window.
Resemblant of the omen stitched to my mother, the cat
was vile, unwelcome, eerie, selfish, wicked, and made me
uncomfortable, like accidently getting your socks wet,
feeling each soggy step after the other. Luckily you can change
your socks at home, however in my case, the wet socks
are stapled onto my feet, and everyday I walk with soggy,
uncomfortable, unwanted socks.