Her Final Story
The dearest story is that that is loved by someone. If your story was liked by one person. Was it not enough? If you asked romantics, then yes. If you asked authors, it would definitely be a no.
A story is only beautiful as long as someone thinks it is. A story does not exist without its reader. To a story, its reader, is its one and only.
To an author the reader is everything.
To an author the story is everything.
And sometimes you love a story because you love someone.
And as the boy looks at the final chapter. He could not bear to finish it. Because it was the final memory. The only thing he could hold on to.
The boy walked into a house. Bottles of beer lying on the ground. Freshly used. It was a celebration.
The news channel was on.
A train wreck.
He wished he was on that train.
He sighed.
His parents had gotten all ready and went to the funeral.
He could not bring himself to. He took the bottles, put them in the dustbin.
His parents might have been really happy, the bottles were the expensive glass. Their burdensome daughter was gone from their lives. He guessed it was a cause for celebration.
He was dressed in the best outfit he owned. A white hoodie with black jeans. A packet of cigarettes in his pocket. A pastel blue lighter in his hand. It was his sister's. He had stolen all of it from her.
He walked past the whole world, not that he existed. It seemed like the sky was mourning for someone, dark and heavy. Each step made the gravity stronger. He could not breathe.
He stopped.
His steps led him to an alley, and a cigarette was lit. The flame heated the cold surrounding air, creating a smokey texture arising from it. Breathing it in, letting it rest in his lungs then breathing it out. Blowing out the smoke from his body, letting it settle. Letting it breathe, before suffocating it again.
He felt like he could breathe.
He opened his phone.
He closed it.
He opened it again. There were messages.
Condolences and prayers.
They prayed for the dead.
While letting the living die.
That was how humanity was after all. And as much as the boy screamed for help. No one would hear him anymore. No one would come to take care of him. Not anymore.
Not anymore.
He looked at the sky.
Then he walked towards the church. The church was white and pristine. The devotion to their god was clear. Walking inside. He closed his eyes. The ceremony was at the graveyard. It felt like he was swallowing poison. It was bitter.
"The whole world mourned the death of a beloved friend, daughter, and sister." The priest said, his voice solemn and tender. Acknowledging the emotion in the room. People were crying, morbidly realizing the loss of a person who was once amongst them.
"The beloved child of God who has now found a place in heaven." The parents whimpered more and more, at some point it sounded like cackling.
"May God bless her with peace and happiness." The friends and classmates sat in silence. Quiet tears stinging their eyes.
The boy stood far away
It was his sister's funeral.
He took his phone and looked at the final chapter. One he could not go past.
Because then it would be over.
But the boy did wonder about the shit the priest was spouting.
Beloved child of God?
His sister?
She was porn addict. Who smoked and drank like it was breathing and water. It is not like she was not going to heaven. She was most probably not. He wished she would not. She did not deserve heaven.
She was the worst sister.
The eighteen year old boy hated his sister.
He believed that at least.
He looked at the funeral. The body had a grave now. He sighed. His sister was two years older but ten years dumber.
Stupid woman.
Stupid.
Stupid.
He had to clean up so much blood because of her. He closed his eyes tightly at the thought. At the memory of the dead body. He saw her dead first. Overdosing was such a dumb way to die.
His thoughts ran amok in his head.
He felt something cold on his face. It had started to rain. Guess the sky really was mourning for the dead.
He watched as everyone dispersed. His parents were the first to. The neighbours walked away. Everyone walked away. The priest stayed praying for a minute before seeking shelter for the rain.
The boy walked towards the grave. It was so boring. His sister would have hated it. She always did say she would have a beautiful grave.
The prettiest grave ever.
He looked through his pocket. Finding the lighter and some chocolate candies. He placed them both on the grave. The rain was cooling the ground and the boy shivered.
He stared at it for a long long time.
And when the rain ceased, he walked to his house.
Slowly walking away.
Opening the door, his parents were normal. His dad was sleeping after drinking. And his mother was cleaning the dishes.
He walked to his room. It used to be theirs. He put on some music his sister liked. She had shitty taste. He walked towards the shared bathroom. Her things were still there, That sponge bob bra and panties set she had bought as a joke for him and ended up wearing it herself. He walked out of the bathroom. Feeling nauseous.
The room was cramped, with two beds. Her bedsheet is still messy. She was sleeping there back then.
It had been a week.
He had not entered the room for three days.
He wanted to take a bath. But he just went to sleep.
When he woke up. It was too late. Too late for school. He walked towards the bathroom. And cleaned it. Removed everything he did not need. Finally, he took a bath.
Then he wore something. And went out. Taking some things.
His mom called for him.
He ignored her. And walked to a garden. Taking some morning glories. He then walked to the church.
He placed the flowers on her grave. And from his pocket took out some stickers and candies. After drying the grave. He started sticking some stickers. And placed the candies. And the flowers.
"Your sister's favourite flowers?" A deep voice spoke.
The boy looked behind him at the priest, who was smiling gently.
"No. My sister hated these flowers." The boy grinned. The priest was flabbergasted, before he laughed.
The priest walked away and then brought some snacks, while the boy continued decorating his sister's grave.
After a while he got tired. And walked away. Opening his phone. His eyes saw the final chapter reading it. Reading it.
Eyes not swaying from the words.
The story was over.
He looked up, tears in his eyes.
He was crossing the road when he heard a loud horn.
It was a truck.
He was about to die.
He could not move.
He could not be bothered to.
His sister's final words were more important.
My Dear Reader,
I won't be continuing this story.