Seven-Eleven (Story)

[fancypost bgcolor=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; borderwidth=0px; overflow: auto; width: 510px; height: 150px; font-family: Georgia; color: black;]No.
That word lingers in my mind like the taste of some kind of disgusting food that made me gag.
What if something bad happened to her? I thought, my heart sinking into the depths of worry. My mom was at that very same 7-11. She was still there… or was she? Maybe she had been shot—I couldn’t bear to think about it. The convenience store threat was all over the news and social media, like Instagram and Twitter. Tweets were exchanged back and forth—there was no telling when it would stop my phone from making that annoying ding sound. I really needed to change my ringtone, or at least that tone.
That was when the current news story was interrupted.
“Breaking news—this just in,” a stony, grim-faced man announced as the screen on the TV switched back to the reporters. “A Seven-Eleven robbery has been confirmed in Raleigh, North Carolina. The toll known so far is two dead and five injured—minor or major.” Then there was a picture of a man on the news.
“Marc McLaren is the assumed suspect of this crime,” the reporter said. “If you see this man, call 911 immediately. He is extremely dangerous, and no-one knows what kind of limits he has—if any.”
Marc was a scary-looking man—a shaven head; a set jaw; stubble surrounding it; tattoos scattered around on his muscular arms; an intense stare that glared forward, burning you like a hot, steaming frying pan on a warm stove. I wondered if he knew who he was killing—who he was after; what he was doing; why he was doing it. And then there was clattering noises coming from behind me. My father stood there, gaping at the television screen. And then I saw what I feared:
My mother’s name was in the death toll section.
I gasped, clutching my hand to my chest. It couldn’t be. They had to have only spelled the name wrong.
But no, because then a picture just had to come up. And what do you know?
It was her.
Labeled ‘Céline Raelyn’, a picture of my mom sat over it as though on a throne of death. It was my mother, my mother who had been so calm and never did anything bad. My mother who had been so kind to give up her places in shopping lines, car lines, and even movie theaters. My mother, who never begged like a sunflower, trying to grow towards the light in all situations; my mother was gone. Banished from life and now non-existent, just another corpse trudging to the path of heaven. A small breath slipped through a crack in my lips.
No.
So I guess I should introduce myself now. No use in continuing my story ‘till I’ve been properly acquainted with you. I’m Ashlynn Raelyn, but I can’t say it’s nice to meet you, because you can’t really introduce yourself. So, I’ll just continue on now …
Well, now we’re acquainted… or so I think. Anyways, continuing with my story.
I couldn’t believe it. It had to be a mistake, it just had to!
I then realized something awkward.
Today was 7/11/14.
The robbery was at a 7-11.