Alienation Quotes

It turns out that the writer Franz Kafka was handsome, athletic, popular with women and frequently promoted at work.

Talk about Kafkaesque.



I'M OFTEN DEPRESSED BECAUSE I AM DIFFERENT.

 

"A woman who remains connected with her mother via a communication link to convey on a daily or a weekly basis the things about her in-laws members as what they eat, drink and think; normally likes the man of the house to act like a weak mouse before her & so naturally always keeps her married life on the brink of the failure."
~Anuj Somany
This will be the first long chapter I've written for a story. ever.
Alienation
Chapter 1
It all happenned when I made my first friend. Yes, my first friend at age 14. One day, I had him come over to my house. To my parent's disbelief, he was real. My mom had pulled him aside to ask him a question. Thinking I was out of earshot, she whispered,
          "How much is he paying you?"
          "Nothing Mrs. H" he replied with a confused look on his face.
          "Yo Colby, what's with your mom asking me how much your paying me? Do you have no friends or something?"
          I lied, "I'm not sure James."
          The night went smoothly and my parents did not embarass me further. That is, until my friend had left. Once I heard the front door close I started crying, bewildered that my mom would ask him a question like that. Eventually, my mom came upstairs and thrusted my door open, bursting into my room.
          "How are you friends with him? Huh? Is it drugs, Colby?" she screamed.
          "No Mom! He's a nice guy. What am I not allowed to have friends now?" I retorted.
          She replied, "No. Not in THIS house. And if I EVER catch you doing drugs you're out of this house. You hear me?"
          I started to storm my way out, pushing my mom aside as I always do. But this time she fell on the ground. Not only did she fall, but her head hit something on the floor.
          "Oh God Mom I - I'm sorry," I said, extending my hand to her. She didn't respond. "Mom? Mom!" I yelled, reaching to pick her up.
          As my hand touched the back of her head, I felt blood.
          "Oh my God Mom! Dad, call 911!" I screamed
          I heard nothing. Dead silent. I suddenly felt alone. Of course. How could I expect my dead-beat da to be home or sober? I ran downstairs to call an ambulance.  All I could mutter in my hoarse voice was my address. I dropped the phone and stumbled around. I made my way to the sliding back door and ran.  I felt naseous and couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. I had killed my own mother.
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