Ehhh, not my best. But I hope you enjoy it anyway. 
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The monstrosity of a bus pulled away from the curb, dragging its rear wheels behind it as it slunk back into traffic. It fought its way sluggishly between the cars, trying unsuccessfully to get ahead as the shiny red convertibles and sleek black BMWs forced it back. Pushing his long brown bangs out of his eyes, the boy watched the old bus’s slow progress until the thick veils of smog hid it entirely from view.
Without a second glance, the boy turned and bounded up the rough concrete steps of the apartment building behind him, his backpack a bright speck of blue in an otherwise dark gray landscape. He pounded through the cramped hallways, smiling ear to ear as he flew past rows of closed doors, the cement under his feet jarring his bones with every step. Around a sharp corner. Up a cold metal flight of stairs, the clanging metal echoing in his wake. One, two, third door on the right. He pulled it open.
“Mommy!” the boy shouted, slamming the door shut behind him. “I’m home!”
Silence.
“Mommy!” the boy called again, brow furrowed and voice tinged with confusion. “Where are y-”
“AAARGH!” a voice roared from the kitchen . Fear thrilled through the boy and he began to sprint down the hallway towards the sound. He skidded to a stop as a door burst open to his right. His mother lurched out, still facing the nightmare in her kitchen. “SON OF A B…umblebee,” she amended quickly, catching sight of her staring son. She wiped her frustration off her face, replacing it with a smile as she swept a few loose wisps of hair back towards the messy mahogany-colored knot at the nape of her neck. “Hey, honey. I was just trying to cook,” she informed him as she wiped flour off her face with a damp rag. Her skin looked as shiny as plastic. “So…what do you want for take-out?”
The boy smiled, shaking his shaggy head at her. He and his mother both knew It was a known fact that she couldn’t cook. The intention was there, but she lacked all coordination in the kitchen.
The boy opened his mouth to tell her so, but was interrupted by a muffled “Ugh!”. The boy closed his mouth, his grassy green eyes widening. His mother turned away stiffly, her eyes unfocused, stalking towards her room.
Her son stood immobile in the forgotten hallway behind her.
Did Mommy just…forget about me?
<<<<<
“Ahhh,” the boy’s mother sighed twenty minutes later as she walked into the kitchen, her damp hair tousled around her shoulders. “I feel better now that I’ve had a shower. So, what do you want for dinner, Squirt?” She asked her son, ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately, making her way over to where he was sitting at the kitchen table. The shadow of a smile fled her face only to be replaced by a ghost of a frown as she watched her son, her slate-colored eyes narrowing.
The boy didn’t notice his mother’s change in attitude. He was oblivious to everything but the thick brown paper and lumps of chalk in front of him. A little more red here, a green undertone there…and it was finished. The little boy was beaming.
He leaned away from the table, catching his mother’s eye. “Mommy!” he practically shouted in her face, his already wide grin growing even bigger. “Guess what, Mommy! I made you a picture!” He leapt from his chair and hopped around the table, hiding his masterpiece behind his back.
The grin faded from the boy’s face, replaced with a look of worry and confusion. His mother didn’t look happy like she had before. She looked nervous, upset…and even a little angry.
Did I do something wrong?
“Mommy?” he asked quietly. She wasn’t looking at him. He tried speaking a little louder. “Mommy? Are you ok?”
With a slight shake of her head, the boy’s mother dragged herself back to reality, refocusing her slate eyes on her son and dazzling him with a too-perfect smile.
“Sorry,” she said, still showing him her teeth. “I just…got lost in my thoughts for a minute. You wanted to show me a…picture, honey?”
“Yeah!” he chirped, his former toothy grin already spreading across his face. With a flourish, he pulled the thick paper from behind his back and shoved it in his mother’s face. “I made it for you! Do you like it, Mommy?”
The boy’s mother bent her head over the picture, staring at it in amazement. “Honey…this is beautiful. I never knew you could…draw…this well.” Her eyes were hard.
“Yeah, Mommy!” The boy exclaimed excitedly. “My teacher even told me that I was really good. She’s the one that gave me the paper and chalk, for at home. I told her art was Daddy’s gift to me. AND she asked me what I liked to draw! I told her I liked to draw apples, because that’s what Daddy always used to draw for you!”
“Awww,” the mother said in a sickeningly sweet voice, giving her son a hug. A single tear ran down her face. “Thank you, sweetie. I’m going to go…put it in my room, okay?” Her voice faltered. With one last blindingly fake smile, and a few more tears unseen by the little boy, the mother headed towards her room. The door clicked firmly shut behind her.
The boy sat down at the table again, suddenly tired from his long day. He slumped onto the kitchen table and put his head on his arms, his grassy green eyes drifting closed.
The last sound he heard before sleep stifled him completely was the scream of the paper shredder.
