Random Pieces I've done

To Overcome

Note: This story can also be found in my short story book Simple Complexities! Check it out?

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The latest songs pump through my ears as students rush around my frail figure. Each one is trying to get out of the putrid building as fast as they can. Many of them leave in groups, laughing or talking busily with one another, while some, like me, want nothing to do with the cliché drama of high school.

            I leave the school grounds, horns blaring around me. My classmates shout at me from their cars, making fun of how I only seem to have one pair of stained, faded jeans, or how my dark brown hair is always covering the blue eyes I see everyday in the mirror.

My long bangs sweep over said eyes. It’s ironic that they make fun of me when half of them don’t even know my name.

            “Get out of here, Jones.”                                  

            Ok, maybe some of them know my name. I glare at the passing car, resisting the urge to flip the birdy at the disrespectful idiots.

            “Hey Ty, how’s your mom? Oh wait…I forgot, she’s dead,” The boys laughed mockingly and sped away

            Instead of going home, I wander the dark streets of the city. It’s true, what they said; my mom was in an accident about a year ago. Apparently, a six wheeler and my mom’s small car didn’t mix well. She was killed instantly. I’m almost certain she would’ve left anyway, but maybe she would’ve taken me with her.

            My dad’s a part time jerk and a full time alcoholic and doesn’t really care what I do as long as I stay out of his way. Most of the time, I stay out of the house until I’m certain he’s passed out. Lately, however, I’ve been forced to go home earlier and earlier.

            I got busted for underage drinking at a party a few months ago. I’m supposed to be home by five, unless I have a valid excuse, but that doesn’t really happen a lot. It really wasn’t my fault; two goons snuck some beer into my coke. When I took a sip, I knew what they had done. Unfortunately, I was also busted for almost killing the boys. That’s the main reason for that dreadful curfew.

            I pass through the streets, lowering my music a little so the world isn’t completely mute. Around me, people crash into each other, grunting in acknowledgement. The cool October air chills my skin through my light maroon sweatshirt.

            I hear a scream; people are rushing over to the side of the road. Ahead, a large eight wheeler is barreling down the road, out of control. Next to me, a little ways ahead, is a toddler, a young boy no more than four years old. His dark hair matches mine and his chestnut eyes are frozen with fear. He stands in the middle of the road like a deer in the headlights. On the sidewalk parallel to me, a lady with similar features and is rushing up the sidewalk.

            “Drew!” She’s yelling, “Drew, get out of the road!”

            There’s no way she can make it to him in time, but I’m close enough that maybe, just maybe, I can.

I lurch forward, going as fast as humanly possible towards the quivering child. I won’t let him die. I won’t let the same fate fall upon a mere child as it did my mother. I can’t. I won’t.

The truck is getting closer, closer, and the boy seems to be falling further away with every step my aching feet take. Still, I urge myself on. I sweep towards he boy in a final desperation, scooping him up in my arms as the truck whizzes by us. The boy is catapulted from my arms, but I’m not so lucky. I see Drew rush to his mom and the world goes black.