Sky's lamentation: broken sketches
1088 Words
Skylar POV
My heart burns with passion and neglect, just like the sketches from my pencil.
It tells a tragic tale, an endless episode of being neglected and forgotten over and over again.
"Hurt people, hurt people." That's all it says.
That's my way of venting my frustrations, I hate it here, everyone smiles at the jokes of their better half.
Their excitement tells a story, while my sketchpad remains my only companion. It hears me down to the very little details I whisper each night when I cry.
Every night my dad spends in a hospital bed, waiting for someone to save him, I sketch.
Every day my mother works herself to exhaustion to provide the little money we need for dinner and sends me into the winter cold to feed my dad with her cheap spicy soup, I sketch.
I stay extra hours at school to avoid the thugs and filth associated with our slum. I was tired of borrowing from Chloe, even though she didn't mind.
It gave her the audacity to guilt-trip me into doing her assignments, and I hated every bit of it.
Not really the assignments, but the reason behind them. I was at her mercy.
Marching out of the arena, I couldn't bear one more humiliating moment with Mason and his admirers. I had better things to worry about.
I trekked home because I couldn't even afford the bus.
Why the hell was I even in such a big school?
I was the scholarship kid, I never truly belonged there.
My classmates were so rich that only a few of them took the bus. I couldn't even afford that.
I barged into our apartment and found Mom making that particular spicy soup to send to Dad in the hospital.
It could only mean one thing, another rigorous round of trekking.
"Mom, the cold tonight is extreme. How long will I continue this way?"
"Watch it, baby girl. Your father will die without his soup! I work my ass off to afford basic hospital bills. I feed you and send you to school. Your part-time job barely sustains your feeding, and I still have to step in. Go feed your father and don't be an ungrateful brat!"
My mum has an unbridled tongue, I know, but she’s suffering just as I am.
As the words left her mouth, Mama pushed me out, shoving the soup into my arms and warning me to buy a loaf of bread on my way there. She slipped two worn notes into my hands, barely enough to buy half of what she asked for.
"Alright, Mama," I answered in a hoarse voice as I dragged my feet into the cold night.
I hastened my steps before the thugs in the slum engaged me in another pointless conversation.
............
Hours later, I was out on the cold streets of Mavic, moving toward the city tower when a loud honk nearly scared the life out of me.
What the hell?
I turned angrily only to see a black BMW speed past me before crashing into a Mavic signpost.
It was a lonely alley. Nobody should have been driving recklessly through such a sharp turn.
As I stepped closer, I recognized the BMW at once. It was one of Mason's luxury ride.
Oh my God. He was injured. Why was he driving recklessly like that?
As I got closer, I smelled dark rum. The car reeked of alcohol and bad decisions.
What the hell would make this spoiled brat drink himself into a stupor and almost get himself killed?
As I pondered the question, he groaned in pain, squinting his eyes and coughing violently from the impact of the airbag.
I ran over and helped him out of the car, supporting him as he struggled to stand.
"Do you have a death wish? Why are you trying to get yourself killed?" I questioned in utter disbelief.
He gasped for air before pleading, "Please... please help me."
I took his arm over my shoulders and helped him limp down the street.
A couple of minutes later, we arrived at the gates of Mavic Tower Clinic.
The doctors rushed him inside and laid him on a stretcher.
"Who are you to him, ma'am?"
I turned and stared at a grumpy-looking Mason. I didn't know what to answer.
The doctors had clearly smelled the alcohol on him and had also noticed the blood stains on my uniform.
One minute he was enjoying the praise and admiration of the entire school.
The next, he was lying on a stretcher fighting for his life. Life was truly cruel.
"Ma'am, I asked who you are to..."
"He can speak for himself!" I answered nonchalantly before taking my flask and loaf of bread and heading toward my father's ward.
............
Looking at my father was another form of torture.
The dim hospital lamp illuminated his features, making him look as handsome as ever.
Yet he stared into empty space. Ever since the industrial accident, our lives have never been the same.
The company sent small compensation payments every month, but they weren't even enough to cover his medical bills.
Mom did all the heavy lifting.
"Hi, Daddy. I'm here again," I murmured through my tears.
"You need to eat and make your little Sky happy." I fed him the soup as a tear slipped from the corner of his eye.
Then he suddenly coughed violently. Foam began forming around his mouth,
Panic gripped me so I sprinted out of the room in search of a doctor.
"Doctor! Doctor! Something is wrong with daddy!"
The doctor immediately rushed ahead of me with a medical kit in hand while two nurses followed closely behind.
............
After a series of examinations, the doctor returned with unfortunate news.
"Kid, you need to call your mother over. There are some complications concerning your father that I'll need to discuss with her in person."
"I'm not a kid! Tell me, Doctor. What is wrong with my father?"
............
As I stepped out of the hospital, a bitter realization crept into my chest.
Life was truly cruel, especially to people who didn't deserve it.
Why him? Why Daddy? As I wrestled with that thought, an annoying voice interrupted me.
"Thanks for your help, kiddo. You ain't so bad after all." Mason spoke with that usual smirk plastered on his face.
A horrific chill ran down my spine.
I glared at him before lashing out. "I wish you had just died in the crash!”
- Writer
