Pills (short story)

Rachael Price

Mrs. Belden

Honors English I

10 October 2014

Pills

People always say they’re afraid of death.  That death will be painful and dark or even morbid, but it’s only like that if you don’t want it.  Death is a system of relief that last’s forever.  It’s a safe haven for the broken and wounded.  I’ve heard suicide is a permanent solution to temporary problems, but my problems aren’t just temporary.  Mine will always be there just like a shadow.  My life is like a game you would play at a carnival or a fair when they throw the ball to dunk the person.  Everyone throws things at me but soon, with one lucky shot, I will fall.  After I got the letter something inside me broke.  I felt cold like the winter breeze outside.  It felt like the whole world went quiet, like everyone and everything was waiting in silence for how I would react.  How I would react to losing the only thing that kept me on the ground.  That letter, 2 pages, 326 words, and 1 apology of the loss of my best friend, and also my dad.  Even though he was in another country I still felt close to him.  While he was risking his life in Afghanistan, I was still in Colorado, going to highschool, and working at the local drug store.

My mother didn’t bother reading the letter, she knew it was coming.  That’s why she started drinking.  Something inside her died when dad left.  Instead of telling herself to be strong, like she told me, she drank her sorrows.  I remember coming home from working in the run-down, old, brick drug store on the corner of the stree.  It was fall, my favorite season.  The trees started to turn from green to golden colors and the smell of a bonfire and laughing children filled my senses.  When I unlocked the front door and stepping inside the house I was expecting to see nothing but darkness, thinking mom went to bed.  Instead she was sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, an amber liquid next to her, and a photo of Dad in front of her.  The photo of Dad was from when I was turning four, and it was my birthday.  Mom ended up dropping the cake, so instead of a happy family photo there’s a younger version of me crying and my parents looking sadly at the camera.

“Mom it’s late you need to go to bed.” I spoke to her softly.  Instead of listening to me she just stared at dads picture.  Tears brimming her eyes.  Before I could step towards her she stood abruptly and looked at me.

“You don’t get it Olivia.  He’s not coming home!  The moment he stepped out of this house was the last time we would see him!  You’re so naive Olivia!” At this point she was screaming at me.  Tears were streaming down both of our faces.  I stood there in shock, staring at the only person that I thought was there for me.  The only person who’s supposed to help me through hard times. Even though she was drunk I couldn’t help but to believe her.

After that night there was only small talk between mom and I, and that was only when she was asking for money.  When mom was home, which was rarely, she was passed out on the couch after a long night of drinking.  I still went to school even though no one would notice if I was there or not.  I don’t have many friends in high school.  Since my mom spends all the money on alcohol there isn’t much left for us.  I have no money to go to college so my future is unclear.  By the looks of it I could disappear now and no one would notice.  Not even my own mother.  

Before my dad left everything was perfect. I couldn’t complain.  My dad always gave me little encouragement quotes or bits of advice, but now that he’s gone I feel lost.  He was the only person who would guide me in the right direction and without him, I’m in the dark.  Dad made me feel like I was important and that I was fixed.  Now that he’s gone I feel like I’m as broken as can be and that I was never fixed.  I know that he’s watching over me and that he would want be to be strong but it’s so hard when I have no hope.  Now I’m sitting here, in my small house in Colorado looking at the pills in my hand and the letter from my Dad’s lieutenant in the other.  Taking these little pills could help me see my father again.  So what’s stopping me? Nothing.