Call Out

Shawn Xavier Sollertia

Sollertia remembered it like it was yesterday, the day when it all began. The darkest of days when no one, not a single one of them cared to bat an eye or even give the idea of helping Sollertia and his dying mother a second thought. Her skin reflected nothing but spots and bruises of red scattered across her. Death himself knocked on her door, it could have easily been solved by chemo, chemo was available, and it could have been so much better, but it didn't. It didn't. With his father out of the frame, running off into god knows what oblivion and now their so-called remaining 'family' and 'relatives' outright denying the existence of the two of them. The two of them. They only had each other and only each other. Cancer came along, society cackled, it glared at its victim with a pair of merciless eyes, never disappearing. Human judgement was an easy pawn for disposal.

Sollertia was illustrated as a loser, he was a loser to the public domain, the loser that no one knew but still pointed fingers at. The pitiful child that would sit at the second last row next to the window and would stare outside to feel less bad when everyone else was in tandem with their own little party. Sollertia was that guy. He had the quirk to turn invisible, the classroom would collectively forget him and only be reminded when attendance is taken, before of course, his presence was immediately wiped off the top of their mind.

Lunches, meals and snacks were to be eaten in isolation, under the blackened spots from the buildings' shadows where no one could see and get near him. No one, no one, no one.

Lies so naturally grit through his teeth. So easily as for him, it was a necessary device and tool required to weave layers of protection. Feelings should be shoved aside as they are nothing but irrelevancy. Emotions that dared manifest anything close to his swathe of negativity, would be pushed down and down and down, like shoving the groceries into a flimsy plastic bag, but eventually, the bag bursts and rips and everything becomes a mess. It'll burst and cause a mess.

Their lives were already sufficiently difficult, barely making do with rent as their landlord's favourite pastime was to threaten to kick those two out for someone better.

The landlord would growl, "Know your place in the world scum, there are plenty of people out there that would be way better off without the two of you leeches, clinging on to life."

Demanding of the renting fees that had racked up over the months.

Feelings were futile and would only interrupt and get in the way. To Sollertia, trash like that should be cast and tossed aside, unreserved for the main event. That is the only way to prevent insults from reaching. Insults are like venom, once they reach the blood veins, it doesn't go back.

Money, money, money; it's all because of money. Greedy, capitalistic creatures are naturally born to make excuses, always more — never enough. They were always thirstful for that fortune, for that 'quick' and 'easy' cash. Those words have properly become synonymous, synonymous, synonymous. Pride is nothing but an irrelevant tool to be easily tossed aside in order to complete certain objectives, it neither helps with pay nor keeps the dignity of a person alive. What's more important, greater research on medical resources or trying to save people with what is already there? Sollertia figured the answer was medical resources because it's the perfect resource to spout excuses and lies, when did humans stoop this low to become such dirty and greedy beings? Instead of taking the humane action of saving someone for free? Isn't that the job of a doctor? But no, it's all for the money. For the money.

Chalk-white vehicles with red crosses and flashing red and blue would show up and take the mother away. His mother. Of course, she could never be saved now, not when she didn't take chemo when she could have. Important men in fancy suits with oversized sunglasses made their appearances and made quick notes of his current situation. Offered him papers, contracts, the boring adult work which required his consent and his signing with pens. He received the last savings of his mother which was valuable in those desperate times, he thanked her.

He was eventually deposited into an orphanage, stuffed with sad little children and with sadness to him up and the not so little teenagers and along with sad old caregivers in sad creaky beds and altogether eating the same sad cooked food. He couldn't wait to escape this sad prison the moment the sad adulthood came to fruition. He wanted to quickly escape that sad place.

But she wasn't sad when she smiled her last smile.

Instead, she did what she could in the lifespan she had, whether it was of a noble cause or parental weakness — knowing well what was coming and prepared as much as humanly possible to help her precious boy before inevitably being taken away by Death; who would arrive knocking on her front door, assisting her to somewhere no man has ever travelled.

Would her little boy be okay?

Will he be able to protect himself?

Would he turn out to be a good person and help many others along the way? Along his path, so that none of them would have to go through what they did...

Coughing, as in her breathless last words were, "Find your purpose in others," strings of emotions attached to the passing terms that hopefully would shine a guiding beacon of light for her little boy. Hopefully, that would make things right.

It did. Kind of.

The path would divide into two and he had to choose between one or the other.

Alongside the guiding light, there was a companion that was present along his journey, no one came along except him. He helped, he talked, he listened, he was his friend's everything.

A choice must be made, would the little boy choose the guiding light or his newfound friend?

Choose one or the other.

Choose one or the other.

Choose one or the other.

Friend.