dad: you were always the weaker one.
the dad muttered under his breath. he had his hands in his jean pockets, staring out of the window, his back towards his son in the hospital bed. his eyes following the leaves falling off of trees down below.
dad: you never amounted to anything. you wasted every little bit of potential you had and every chance that was given to you. just like you are wasting your time right now. your brother would have woken up long ago by now.
he swallowed and sighed before turning to the bed. his son was silent, a porcelain doll, only the covers showed movement whenever he breathed in and out. he looked like an empty shell of who he used to be.
dad: but your mom was over the moon. when you were born, i was cast aside. as if you needed her full attention. you and your brother were her whole world. and she was proud of you. "live your life to the fullest." she used to say to you. she would have wanted you to live. but now you're just laying here. giving out and fading.
the dad stated it matter-of-factly, like it were empty words, but his jaw clenched a little, his shoulders tensed up, his eyes narrowing. he was silent for a while.
dad: i have to make a decision soon.
YOU ARE READING
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐄
Short Storyan almost decade old story. * "one tragedy changed their lives." a story with dialogues and minimal description, in which a boy ends up in the hospital after a car accident and his friend slowly collapsing under the weight of his tortured mind. but...
