Standard Conscious?

Chapter Twelve

Scarlett's P.O.V:

Perfection. That is what everyone wants, what they want to be. Nobody is perfect. They can never be perfect. No matter what they do, or how hard they utry;

They're human and they always forget that.

My father was and still is a hard working man. He's a wise man who spends his money on things we need, not the items we show off. Sure he made mistakes; but he never let us down.

He understood.

That's the thing about poor people; we understand. We never judge, because we're the ones facing similar situations.

One sickness can lead to a disaster. Loan can make our lives come up to a critical stage. One single problem makes us to work double, and a challenge kills us.

We never faced such challenges. We were and still are one big happy family. Until now.

Sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair with the my head in my hands, all my hopes had flown out of my heart. My mother was the one who sat alongside me. The wrinkles on her pale skin, the creases forming on her forehead made me understand her state of tension.

She had tears streaming down her face as she stared up at the doctor who had a file, filled with papers, settled in her arms. She had a sympathetic and sincere expression on her face as she saw the state of my mother.

"I'm sorry." That was it and my mother broke down. Her wails could be heard even if we were not standing close. Her hands shook as she let out sorrowful cries.

The doctors eyes filled with grief as she witnessed a wife crying for her love, her knight. Her husband.

I was shocked. It felt like everything around me had abruptly stopped. The fact that this had been going on since I was fifteen was what horrified me.

I was kept in the darkness. But it confusing that this darkness was good for me. I got out, but it threw me in a never ending abyss. I was falling down, unable to reach the surface.

My father was sick? He was sick? That fifty-two year old, healthy man who was able to run a kilometre without losing his breath, sick?

"Lung cancer isn't rare. It is very common in smokers and-"

"But he never smoked! He has never touched a cigarette in his life!" I yelled and stood up from my seat, "Lung cancer is fucking impossible! This is bullshit!" I pulled on my hair in frustration.

"Miss, I suggest you to calm down." The doctor turned nervous when she held my firing gaze.

"Calm down?! How the fuck am I supposed to calm down?!" I hollered, "My father is sick! He's sick! He's dying and you tell me to calm down?!"

"I will call the security if you keep this behaviour miss." The doctor warned, but I was furious, my anger couldn't compete her warnings as I punched the wall repeatedly. My mothers cries stopped but my punches didn't.

I could see blood seeping out my knuckles as I created more and more holes in the wall.

"You are creating a ruckus! Stop now!" The doctor yelled frightened. But I couldn't stop. It was like my inner devil had taken over me. I was seeing red.

How would someone react when you're waiting for your father and the doctor comes out saying 'He doesn't have much time left'. And ended with a simple 'sorry'.

Sorry is pathetic. It is just a word, not reality. Sorry can't undo what's done. It can't change reality to just a nightmare.

"Young lady you stop this instant." A furious yell came out of my mother. I stopped, sighed and collected myself before looking at her in the eyes.