Desperate- A short story

Desperate

Clang!

The dull green locker slammed shut, the echo thundered around the abandoned hallway. The bright fake lights flickered overhead, reflected in the glossy and polished white tiles below. The scent of bleach so strong I could practically taste it. My fingers pushed my smooth brown curls out of my eyes as I turned around, heading towards the exit.

The cold wind greeted me as I made my way towards the car. The twinkling stars were guardian angels, watching me as I approached my parents rusty old truck in the empty parking lot. The first thing I did after getting in the vehicle was check my denim school bag for the college application I spent the entire day at school writing. It would be a pain to get home only to find my paper still at school, where anyone could steal it. I'm applying for college; not that it would do me any good. I was diagnosed with liver cancer and since my parents can't afford to pay for a transplant, I won't make it past the age of 21.

I bit my lip and twisted the keys in the keyhole and was rewarded with the roar of an engine. You see, the truck wasn't in the best of shape, it was a miracle it didn't fall apart at the slightest graze of the wind. My parents got it at the dump right after their honeymoon and spent the next year or two repairing it.

The engine puffed as I rolled out of the driveway and on my journey home. I reached out to turn the radio on just as I felt a distant ache in my chest. My parent were doing everything, trying to get a loan from banks to pay for a transplant, who, in the end, refused them, claiming they couldn't repay $577,100 with their annual income of $50,000.

"Selfish little pricks..." I bitterly muttered under my breath, my hands tightly gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. They didn't care if a child's life ended before they even started living it. I was bloody 18!!! 

"They just don't care" I whispered, shoulders slumped in defeat, tears prickled my eyes as I pulled up into the driveway. I wasn't going to get a liver transplant, I accepted that, but my parents... they always had hope, even when mine faded.All these thoughts clouded my mind as I stepped out of the car, not bothered to lock it. Who would want to steal it?

The six storey building towered over me, as musty air danced in my nose. I could taste rot in the air as went, through a pitiful wooden door. My footsteps echoing in the damp. My hand ran along the wall, feeling the roughness of the brick-red bricks that had lost their paint years ago. There was only 1 little white light overhead to guide me. Doors lined the walls. 

"One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six..." I counted. My footsteps came to a sudden halt. 

I stood in front of a chipped green wooden door with a brittle and decomposing metal mailbox hanging next to it. The rusty metal number 6 stared down at me from their peak at the top of the doorframe. My tan hand reached out and wrapped around the decayed handle. There was no squeak as I opened the sad excuse for a front door, the reason that I oiled it earlier this morning before I had to go to school.

All my thoughts came to an abrupt halt when I saw what awaited me inside.

The scent of waste over-powered the air as I felt a cold sweat breakout. Pale lights illuminated the ratty couch below. There sat my parents with a table in between them and a stranger who looked like he had seen hell.

My mom's dark brown hair contrasted the sudden paleness that flooded her face at the sight of me. A thin sheen of sweat covered her head to toe as her big hazle doe eyes widened, her full baby pink lips parted and a small crows feet that lined her eyes became more prominent.

My father contained the same inner panic; black hair damp with sweat, face washed clear of color, blue eyes the size of saucers. A few wrinkles decorated his face and plump magenta lips gaping as if trying to say something.

My eyes flashed to the stranger in the middle of my living room.

His blonde hair was in a buzz cut as small red spots decorated his pale face. His lips were dry and dark and his black eyes empty. In other words, he looked dead.

As my eyes were flashing back to my parents a box that was seated proudly on the table caught my eye. A gasp escape my parted lips. There were piles upon piles of small bags full of some sort of white powder accompanied by multiple needles.

'My parents were selling heroin... they were ruining someone's life.'

That one thought echoed through my mind as the numbness of the shock faded away to be replaced with a whirlwind of emotions. I was shocked, disappointed, confused, revolted, but what I felt strongest was betrayal. My parents, the kindest people that I knew, the people who kept on fighting for me, who were my light in the darkness, were selling drugs and literally killing a person. My tear filled eyes snapped to my mother and did a double take.

"A-Anna it's not what you think..." she pleaded. All the emotions build up, until it was too much and the dam broke.

"Not what I think?" I cried hysterically, tears streaming down my face, "So those are just little bags full of flour with needles and that guy there is our new doctor neighbor, who, coincidentally was out of both?"

My chest heaved rapidly, heart galloping, bordered on a panic attack.

"Sweet heart if this gentleman buys it, then we will finally have enough money to pay for your transplant!" My dad started off calmly, but adopted my tone of hysteria near the end.

That shook me out it, my breaths and pulse evened.

"What?" I raised my gaze to meet my parents reassuring gaze but then I looked at the man and drugs and my panic came back.

Comparing how dead he already looks and the amount of drugs, he wouldn't survive another dosage.

The next thing I knew I heard my feet thundering, echoing, wind biting my face as I raced down the hallway, outside, down the street and into an alleyway.

I plunked next to a green garbage container as the smell of rot and trash overtook my senses. I could finally breathe and think about my inner turmoil.

If I let my parents sell those drugs, I could live, fall in love, have children and grow old. I could have everything I wanted in life, the perfect job and adventure, I could finally live, my spirit free of the chains, of the knowledge that I would die before I even lived, that all that I worked for would be for nothing. I could have everything, the simple pleasures that others often overlooked. But if I did, then someone would die, and I would have to live with a guilty conscious but my parents would be free.

Or I could report my parents, die free of a guilty conscious and with the knowledge that I saved a life at the price of my parent's freedom.

My hands raised, shaking, to dig my phone out of my pocket.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a split second before a beep rang in the alleyway, soon followed by two more.

I shakily lifted the phone to my ear.

"Hello? What is your emergency?" a feminine voice sounded from the device.

'I can do this.' I swallowed down the big lump that formed in my throat.

When I finally gathered enough courage to speak I opened my mouth to answer, my mom's and dad's smiling faces flashed before my eyes.

Thankfully, before I could doubt my decision, the policewoman's voice broke through the haze.

"Hello? Are you alright"

'For a life...' was the last thing I thought before I pushed the image of my parents aside and spoke the words that would forever change my life

"Yes, hello. I would like to report a heroin deal in room 6, floor 1, building 4, on Sin street"

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(Time Skip)

My eyes filled with tears as I clenched onto the hands in my weak grip. My parent's hands. Black dots started to invade my vision as I saw their smiling and tear filled eyes gazing down at me.

'I love you' I mouthed at them before I slipped into the darkness... Floating. One last thought rang in my head as I faded away into nothing

'Peace..............'