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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1506534-the-child
Rated: E · Short Story · Drama · #1506534
a child loses his father.
The Child
By Amber Mac Quarrie

         The child walked through the park. His clothes were still dripping from the downpour of the thunderstorm. His body shuddered as he looked up to the sky. ‘It still looks like its going to rain again.’ he thought, ‘if only my father could see this. He always liked thunderstorms.’ The thought brought on a fresh flow of tears.
         He found a park bench and sat down. His tears gave way to sobs, his body convulsing with each one. His father was so young, so full of life. No one suspected that he was doing drugs. He found his father dead in the bathroom, still clutching a bag of pills. The police came and took his father away. The boy was left there, still crying. The police came back a few hours later and took him to a shelter. Immediately, the children picked on him. He had a disease called scoliosis. Instead of his spine being straight, it formed a c shape, making him have the appearance of a hunchback. That night, sick on the children’s indifference, he snuck away with only the clothes on his back. His father was always in some type of financial trouble so he was used to being without food for a few days. Then, the day of the funeral came.
         He was the only one at the site. As he was leaving, lightning flashed and thunder clapped. Then the rain came. He ran as fast as he could toward the park. As soon as he reached it, the rain stopped. ‘What would dad think of me now?’ he thought as he came back to reality. He felt a warm arm encircle his small figure.
“Don’t cry jack.”
         Jack looked up into big pools of green, surrounded by a pale face with red hair.
“Aileen!” he cried. He cast his arms around her neck and hugged her tight. She was the only one who came the see his father and him when they were having a hard time to make ends meet. She would bring them food and water or basic items. She had been there through everything. She was like a mother to him. She took his hands into her own and looked into his eyes.
“I am so sorry I missed the funeral. I was at work and forgot the time. How would you like it if I made it up to you by going back to my place and having a nice lunch together?” she asked.
         Jack could only nod his head as tears came unbidden to his eyes. She stood up, wiped the tears away, and took his hand. As they walked toward her car, jack looked up and saw the familiar red convertible. He looked up into her eyes and, for the first time in his life, he saw that everything was going to be o.k.
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