Read this heartbreaking short story from reader Chloe...
The darkness of the medical room feels right somehow. The rattling of the radiator is the only sound I can hear except for the distant sound of footsteps which I pray aren't coming my way. I don't need people asking what is wrong - I am already so close to tears. The room is new, different; I feel I can hide there, no questions, no tears, just hiding. You know that moment of pain when you just want to curl up into a ball and hold yourself close? The fear of breaking apart so strong in your mind. It's also for comfort, isn't it? A part of you demands to be alone as people only make you cry... but another part wants a hug, wants someone to tell you it will be OK, just once, even if you do know they're lying. I don't know what I want... silence, comfort? Well, I suppose I do know. I want him to live.
The feeling of helplessness kills you, doesn't it? When you can't do anything but pray and wish and hope and wait. 'It's not fair...' These are the only words I can find to say. The radiator has grown louder now, comforting somehow. Or maybe it is the voice in my head as it narrates the story bringing some kind of comfort. I mean, that's the one person you can't push away, isn't it? Yourself. Even if the whole world turns its back on you, you still have yourself.
A loud, shrill ringing noise sends shivers down my spine. Running footsteps and loud voices of high school kids fills the corridor. I think of my friends... are they wondering where I am, why I'm not in class? They'll think I am away home by now, they don't know I'm here, don't know I'm hiding. The radiator sound has gone. Distant voices and keys rattling are all I can hear, and then I see the janitor, always happy, always smiling, pause in the doorway. 'What's wrong?'
'Bad news,' I say softly, blushing slightly, biting my lip, tears welling all over again. He nods his head and walks away and I sigh with relief. I am not ready to talk about it, not yet. Teachers are walking past the open door now, I flash them all the same weak smile and most smile and walk on, some raising an eyebrow. They know it isn't their place to interfere, that things can't be made better by an awkward conversation through a half-open door.
Someone comes to tell me my Granny is here, and I stand up, leaving the darkness of the little room that has given me a hiding place this last twenty minutes. I know that if he dies I will be seeing that room again, or maybe Mum will let me take that day off school. Grieving takes its toll on people, and nobody knows how long it will last. In a situation like this, I get two days at most and then I will have to pull myself up, put a brave face on and move on, no matter how hard it may be.
He isn't going to die. He can't, I think softly to myself. He has to live, and we have to keep our promises, no matter what...
image: with thanks to Pexels
Cathy says:
I love the heartfelt and powerful prose of this story... and I love that although we don't know quite how it will end, we can all identify with that feeling of helplessness and fear. Have YOU ever had to handle bad news in a school setting? COMMENT BELOW to have your say...
The feeling of helplessness kills you, doesn't it? When you can't do anything but pray and wish and hope and wait. 'It's not fair...' These are the only words I can find to say. The radiator has grown louder now, comforting somehow. Or maybe it is the voice in my head as it narrates the story bringing some kind of comfort. I mean, that's the one person you can't push away, isn't it? Yourself. Even if the whole world turns its back on you, you still have yourself.
A loud, shrill ringing noise sends shivers down my spine. Running footsteps and loud voices of high school kids fills the corridor. I think of my friends... are they wondering where I am, why I'm not in class? They'll think I am away home by now, they don't know I'm here, don't know I'm hiding. The radiator sound has gone. Distant voices and keys rattling are all I can hear, and then I see the janitor, always happy, always smiling, pause in the doorway. 'What's wrong?'
'Bad news,' I say softly, blushing slightly, biting my lip, tears welling all over again. He nods his head and walks away and I sigh with relief. I am not ready to talk about it, not yet. Teachers are walking past the open door now, I flash them all the same weak smile and most smile and walk on, some raising an eyebrow. They know it isn't their place to interfere, that things can't be made better by an awkward conversation through a half-open door.
Someone comes to tell me my Granny is here, and I stand up, leaving the darkness of the little room that has given me a hiding place this last twenty minutes. I know that if he dies I will be seeing that room again, or maybe Mum will let me take that day off school. Grieving takes its toll on people, and nobody knows how long it will last. In a situation like this, I get two days at most and then I will have to pull myself up, put a brave face on and move on, no matter how hard it may be.
He isn't going to die. He can't, I think softly to myself. He has to live, and we have to keep our promises, no matter what...
image: with thanks to Pexels
Cathy says:
I love the heartfelt and powerful prose of this story... and I love that although we don't know quite how it will end, we can all identify with that feeling of helplessness and fear. Have YOU ever had to handle bad news in a school setting? COMMENT BELOW to have your say...
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