Short Story Collection

Lost

Don't make eye contact. Don't argue or fight. Don't speak.

 A few simple rules to guarantee a painless walk home. Fitting in had always been a problem, after all teenagers were never the most accepting group of people. Whispering behind hands was the least one could hope for, and that was on a good day.

Life had not really been the same since that day. The day that ruined everything we had built. The moment those planes were seen, flashing onto our screens, crashing into our lives. Nothing would ever be the same.

For me, life had been a bumpy but otherwise clear road, a few potholes but nothing major. Wearing a scarf to cover hair had been difficult to start with, that much was inevitable. It was different, people didn't like different. Why do you wear it? What's the point? Does it have significance?

If there was one thing I had learnt in my short yet lesson-filled life it was that people feared the unknown. People feared that which they didn't understand. I tried to answer the questions as they flew at me, batting their attacks away. But the questions were like flies, no matter how many times I swatted them away, they returned. Always the same, always hurtful.

And now, now everything was different. I used to at least be able to keep my head up, to smile at people in the street and though the streets of New York would stare back warily, at least they'd give a small, unsure smile. Now, I was just greeted accusing glares, it's your fault. Those people are dead because of you. That was what their eyes said, every single pair. That is a bit much to handle when you're a mere fifteen years old. But I could handle it, well at least that is what I told myself in the mirror everyday. I could handle it.

I could feel eyes burning into my back as I picked up my pace. I took out my phone, holding it up to see the reflection of a boy, mimicking my quickened pace. Oh god, help. My silent cry remained in my head, dissolving into the depths of nothing. Deciding to pretend I had not seen anything, I kept walking, my home coming into view.

A shiver travelled up my spine as my legs began to burn, my muscles wound tight in fear. His footsteps were getting louder and so was my heartbeat, it began pounding in my ears. I clenched my fists beside my thigh, I was so close. I could make it, just a little more, just a little -

I let out a cry of pain as my scarf was suddenly torn from my head, ripping out hair along with it. I felt my body being shoved against a wall, my face suddenly very close to a furious boy's, his breath fanning over my face.

"You killed my uncle! Your people! Your religion!" He pulled me forward and slammed me against the wall, I cried out, pain shooting through my back. Don't speak. Rule number three, break it and you're gone. "Well? Aren't you going to say anything?" He bellowed, his spit flying across my face. I tried to shove him away, my lips pressed into a determined line.

I winced as he grabbed my chin in a vice-like grip, pulling my face to look him in the eyes. "SAY SOMETHING!" A tear escaped my eye, despite my best attempts for it to stay in my eye.

I could feel my chest burning, a volcano erupting in my body that I hadn't even realised was lying dormant. "You want me to say something? FINE! I didn't kill your uncle! My people didn't kill your uncle! My religion didn't even kill your uncle! Do you know who killed your uncle? A group of terrorists who use my religion as an excuse to kill people." Tears were falling in a steady stream, my voice growing hoarse as I screamed in his face, "Don't you think I got hurt? Don't you think I was affected too? Don't you think I stopped believing in my religion?"

"Then why do you still wear it?" His voice was acid, burning through me as he spoke. His nose crinkled in disgust, and I had to hold back the anger coursing through me. I breathed, tried to slow my racing heart, and finally gathered myself together.

My voice, my whole body was shaking, but I pushed myself anyway, "Because I know my religion didn't take your uncle away. Those people took his life, and they will pay. I don't know when, or even how, but I know hurting people like me won't bring him back. So please, leave me alone!"

The boy stood in shock as my chest heaved, my body suddenly slumping in an effort to hold back my sobs. "Please, leave me alone." My voice had dropped to an almost inaudible whisper, my rattling breath the only sound.

His arm softened against my collarbone, and I raised my eyes to meet his tear-filled ones. His voice was soft, broken, "How do I make the pain go away?"

I hesitated, sifting to find an answer that would relieve any of his pain but I came up short, "I don't know." His arm dropped to his side, his eyes lost in a world that didn't have any direction. "I'm sorry." I whispered, wishing I could ease his pain but we were not the only ones filled with agony and loss. He was just of the many lost souls that wandered the streets day after day. I found myself wondering if he would be okay, even though my back still ached and my eyes were still burning.

I mulled it over, detouring away from home. Sure he tried to hurt me but he stopped, he understood. Could they all? Could this be the answer? The key to being able to walk through the streets freely?

What do you think, Dad? I thought the question, running my fingers gently over the etching in stone. 2nd April 1955 - 11th September 2001. That was the day, the day everything changed for the worse.

I remember the morning that everything went wrong, I relived it every night, my father's face ingrained in my mind. I could feel his last kiss still lingering on my cheek, his embrace wrapped around me, enclosing me in a case of warmth. His cheery 'see you after work' echoed clearly through my nights, well before I woke and cried as I remembered he never came home. As I remembered that he would never embrace me again.

A warm tear trickled down my cheek, I dropped to the floor beside his gravestone, laying my head against it, imagining the cold stone as his soft chest instead. In a little world of my own, I sat, undisturbed by the world who would never know just how much I had lost. Why would they care? It's my fault.

Right?