About 5 hours into my trip, I must make a stop for petrol. I take the opportunity to freshen myself up as well. In the bathrooms, I splash cold refreshing water on my face. I buy myself a coffee, make that two. Refreshed and ready to hit the road again. Outside the shop, I see a familiar face.
Paul, one of Marks buddies. Standing with two coffees in my hands and having to think fast. But as usual, I cannot do a thing right.
Well, well, well look what we have here.
As he walks closer the smell of beer grows.
Its the punk who tried to hit on Marks girl.
His fists at his sides start to bulge.
YOU TRYING TO SKIP TOWN OR SOMETHING.
His voice suddenly raised drawing attention to us. Everyone at the garage starts staring. All of them waiting in angst like me, for the drunken idiot to take a swing and knock me out.
WELL ANSWER ME PUNK!?
His face reddens; his knuckles grow white from the tension in his fist.
Yes, I am, ok just leave me alone.
NO WAY!
The veins in his neck start to show his entire body prepped for a fight.
When Im done with you, youll want to hang yourself from depression!
His laugh: a cold hard chuckle. One that shows ignorance and false pride.
Unlucky Paul, I already want to kill myself so if you be so kind to do it for me you would save me a lot of trouble and give everyone watching a show. So please do it I dare you.
His eyes widen a sudden shock and fear shot him straight in the head. I know he is lost in fear, so I walk closer whispering in his ear.
So do me a favor and tell your friend Mark and his girlfriend Charlotte that their funny prank was the last straw I needed to weave my death rope.
I slowly walk back to my car, Paul still trembling after what just happened. He was ready for a fight just not a mental beating from a depressed suicidal looser.
Back on the road and one and a half coffees in I start to feel tired but at least I know that its only an hours drive left then I can sleep at grandmas. Say my goodbyes for her then head off again to my lifes final destination. The same place my mom died. All the way, at the beachside highway.
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Finally, I reach grandmas house. Exhausted I hug her and bid her a good day as I hit the hay in my room. When I still attended therapy, I stayed with my grandmother. She understands me, knows me better than anyone else.
As my head hits the soft pillow I immediately drift off to my land of wonders and memories of mother. Here I remember every little detail of her. From her lightly tanned skin all the way to her brunette hair with natural blond highlights and tips. Her perfect smile able to blow away a years worth of pain, in just mere seconds.
The only problem is she never smiles in my dreams. All I can picture is her dead lifeless body lying in its coffin. Her skin drained from blood and white as the roses on her grave. As I slowly start to fade into a deep sleep wishing that I never wake up.
YOU ARE READING
My mother's white rose
Ficção GeralThe life of a typical depressed teenage boy. No friends, no parents, misunderstood with only one mission in mind. His journey to his death bed, the same bed as his mothers; only this time will it be his death?
