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"I forgot to."

"No, you didn't. You chose not to do it."

"What's the big deal? It's just grass. I like how it looks long anyway."

"It still has to be cut."

"Why?"

Annoyance. "Because it looks nasty."

"Nasty? And decapitating hundreds of thousands of living beings isn't?"

Humorous. "Don't give me that crap; just go mow it!"

"You still haven't given me a reason to; tell me why I should!"

Deepening annoyance. "Because it doesn't look good when it's long! It's just something that has to be done! What don't you understand about that?"

"You mean it doesn't look good to you, or you don't want others to think you are a messy person?"

Anger. "Both! Now go cut the damn lawn!"

"I thought looks didn't matter…?"

Frustrated chuckles. "Go mow it! Now damnit!"

"There still isn't a reason to."

Mom interrupts. "Your father told you to do something, now go do it! Why are you being like this?"

"Being like what? Logical? You want me to do something I don't want to do because of some father-slash-mother son unwritten code? How am I the idiot here?"

"I never called you an idiot!" Annoyed sigh.

"You implied it, mom."

"You just think that."

"Damnit, mom, of course you think I'm an idiot! I dropped of college, lied to you for months about it, and now I mooch off of you. Are you telling me you still love me like you did a year ago?"

"Yes, you father and I do." Conviction.

"Bullcrap. You're just saying that because that's what our culture expects of you. 'Eternal love from your family' and all that. Love is not genetic. It is something earned."

"…Alright, fine." A sullen tone. "But don't you think we deserve your love after all we've done for you? We've protected you from harm, provided you shelter, and we've fed you. We've given you what you've wanted most of the time, and have done everything we could think of to make you happy. You stil--"

"Exactly. You did what YOU thought was right. I'm not saying I've never been happy; I have been. But what you did for me, regardless of how much love was behind it, is now only deserving of respect. And I do respect you for what you've done for me; but, love is subjective. It is based upon how our subconscious interprets our immediate environments. You did what you did for me, and do what you do for me now, all because it's 'the right thing to do'. Love has nothing to do with why I'm still alive today. You could've found me on the side of the road and you would've raised me; sure, you'd have grown attached, and you would've grown to love me, but let's say you had five children already. Let's say you didn't want another kid. Let's say that you were forced due to unforeseen circumstances to keep me for a few years. You'd raise me because it would be the right thing to do."

Minutes of silence. I try to walk away. Dad speaks. "Is that how you really feel? That we don't deserve your love?"

"When did I say th-"

"Fine then. You can live here for another year. If, by then, you don't have enough money to leave, then that's too bad. If you have a job by then, but not enough money, we'll give you enough to pay rent for a few months so you can save up. Have anything else to add? I don't know about your mom, but I'm not talking to you until your last day here." Painful expression.

Mom chimes in. "Neither am I."

"…Fine." My voice is steady. "I don't think living here is good for me anyway."

My father cut the grass that day while I searched for porn on the computer to masturbate to later. The stress of the recent conversation and energy exerted by pushing the lawnmower caused his heart to give out. He collapsed next to the house, out of view. Even though the mower's engine stopped, no one thought there was a problem until two hours later when my little brother went out to look for my dad to play basketball with him.

Description
"I forgot to."

"No, you didn't. You chose not to do it."

"What's the big deal? It's just grass. I like how it looks long anyway."

"It still has to be cut."

"Why?"

Annoyance. "Because it looks nasty."

"Nasty? And decapitating hundreds of thousands of living beings isn't?"

Humorous. "Don't give me that crap; just go mow it!"

"You still haven't given me a reason to; tell me why I should!"

Deepening annoyance. "Because it doesn't look good when it's long! It's just something that has to be done! What don't you understand about that?"

"You mean it doesn't look good to you, or you don't want others to think you are a messy person?"

Anger. "Both! Now go cut the damn lawn!"

"I thought looks didn't matter…?"

Frustrated chuckles. "Go mow it! Now damnit!"

"There still isn't a reason to."

Mom interrupts. "Your father told you to do something, now go do it! Why are you being like this?"

"Being like what? Logical? You want me to do something I don't want to do because of some father-slash-mother son unwritten code? How am I the idiot here?"

"I never called you an idiot!" Annoyed sigh.

"You implied it, mom."

"You just think that."

"Damnit, mom, of course you think I'm an idiot! I dropped of college, lied to you for months about it, and now I mooch off of you. Are you telling me you still love me like you did a year ago?"

"Yes, you father and I do." Conviction.

"Bullcrap. You're just saying that because that's what our culture expects of you. 'Eternal love from your family' and all that. Love is not genetic. It is something earned."

"…Alright, fine." A sullen tone. "But don't you think we deserve your love after all we've done for you? We've protected you from harm, provided you shelter, and we've fed you. We've given you what you've wanted most of the time, and have done everything we could think of to make you happy. You stil--"

"Exactly. You did what YOU thought was right. I'm not saying I've never been happy; I have been. But what you did for me, regardless of how much love was behind it, is now only deserving of respect. And I do respect you for what you've done for me; but, love is subjective. It is based upon how our subconscious interprets our immediate environments. You did what you did for me, and do what you do for me now, all because it's 'the right thing to do'. Love has nothing to do with why I'm still alive today. You could've found me on the side of the road and you would've raised me; sure, you'd have grown attached, and you would've grown to love me, but let's say you had five children already. Let's say you didn't want another kid. Let's say that you were forced due to unforeseen circumstances to keep me for a few years. You'd raise me because it would be the right thing to do."

Minutes of silence. I try to walk away. Dad speaks. "Is that how you really feel? That we don't deserve your love?"

"When did I say th-"

"Fine then. You can live here for another year. If, by then, you don't have enough money to leave, then that's too bad. If you have a job by then, but not enough money, we'll give you enough to pay rent for a few months so you can save up. Have anything else to add? I don't know about your mom, but I'm not talking to you until your last day here." Painful expression.

Mom chimes in. "Neither am I."

"…Fine." My voice is steady. "I don't think living here is good for me anyway."

My father cut the grass that day while I searched for porn on the computer to masturbate to later. The stress of the recent conversation and energy exerted by pushing the lawnmower caused his heart to give out. He collapsed next to the house, out of view. Even though the mower's engine stopped, no one thought there was a problem until two hours later when my little brother went out to look for my dad to play basketball with him.