Ghost Of Pastarago

2019

Flashback to three years ago. It is now 2019... yes I know. Covid.

I knew Mat came in when I heard the door open. No one checks out this old haunted house beside him. I kind of hope no one buys it so maybe he could when he's old enough.

"Walda! I can't handle this anymore!"

His voice is still high-pitched. It fits because of how small he is. He looks like someone anyone can win a battle against. His hair covered the tops of his green eyes. Today they looked particularly teary. I head his way.

"Stella was at a friend's house for some time today. My mom was going to pick her up after three hours, so three hours later she leaves the house to pick her up," he sniffles, "twenty minutes later my mom comes back without her. She says Stella wanted to stay a couple hours longer, so she gets her way." Where is he going with this?

"A couple minutes later, I need to go to my chorus concert. So I get dressed and go in the car. My mom tells me she will pick up Stella on the way!" His crying gets worse. "I told her- I told her not to! I told her not to. Stella would get mad if she saw me in the car. When she got in- she got in and- Stella got in the car and she saw me. When I was backstage about to go out, Stella showed up and she- she-" he tried to make the words out. He did not need to. I could tell what she did based on his red patches of skin, a puffy lower lip, and a nice purple dot to the right of his eye.

"I was going to have a solo too! It was meant to be a- a surprise! I could barely stand and- I missed the concert! My parents didn't even notice! They were too busy hearing Stella rant about her friend's house!" This poor thing. This is not the first time something like this happened. His parents didn't even see the bruises on his face when he left.

He looked down at his hands and only then did I realize he was holding... a Windex bottle? What is he going to do with that?

He looked back at me his eyes slightly not matching mine. He knew the area where I was.

"I'm sorry," he says with tears dripping down his shirt, "but I can't keep living like a punching pillow for Stella."

He unscrewed the top of the bottle and let it drop to the floor. He then brought the whole thing to his face. What is he- NO!

I tried to push the bottle out of his hand. I wanted it to spill on the floor. All I did was push cool air his way. He felt it, and knew I was right there. "This is how it has to be," he says, and pours the blue liquid into his mouth.

His eyes slam shut and his lips close together. He was suffering, and I could do nothing. He forced the whole thing down his throat. It took some time. I forced my eye to watch him every part of it. Finally, through all his agony, he died.

Author's Note: I tend to not write dark scenes in my books because I am bad at them, but I forced myself to do it for this. Hope it was good.