The Last Lyric•Tupac•

Chapter 1-My Sincerest Apologies

~edited~

Tyla's POV

Why does everything have to end with death? Is there a such thing as the after life? Why does everything we come to know end with just death? There are all these quotes and lectures and books and journey's about life, so why does it have to end in a flat line? These were everyday thoughts for me. On going and seeming to never wanna stop. Even when I sleep, I dream about my mother turning the wheel rapidly and scurrying us off the road. I can still feel the glass cutting my face from the windows and my head getting hit by something.

I could still feel the blood rushing from my forehead and the taste of it in my mouth-like copper. Then I could still see my mother, lying half way out the broken window-not moving at all. I thought maybe she should be asking me if I'm alright, checking my injuries or screaming like a banshee for help. But she laid there. And I went on to stare at her lifeless body in shock.

Pretty stupid of me right? I had already knew what had been done, but maybe if I wasted less time staring and more time doing then my mother would still be alive. And I wouldn't be here on this train. My body jumped and rocked a little as we went over the bumpy and rusted train tracks. I had no choice but to stare out the window. Nobody to talk to, no siblings to annoy me and there was certainly no one paging me. Maybe that was my own fault. After the accident-I didn't say much, only because I had nothing to say. And the less I talked, the more people started to disappear out my life. All of my "friends'. Maybe I was boring now and maybe people felt like I should have more to say. I don't care.

The only person in my life who seemed to be steady was my biological father, Charles, and that wasn't until after the accident. I was staying at my aunt's, fixing to move in with him and he would always call and ask how my day was. Ask me if I was getting enough to eat over there and did they treat me right. I didn't know why he was all of a sudden so concerned about my well being and I didn't really care to know why. Maybe he felt guilty. He thought I was okay with being with just my mom- and I was- but as soon she dies he feels it's his need to step in? Don't waste your breath. My plan was to live there until I was eighteen, all while keeping my distance, and then leaving. I didn't have time to get emotionally attached to someone I knew wasn't gonna stick around.

After almost three hours, the intercom announced my stop and I was actually glad to get off. Stretching out my cramped up legs, I stood patiently as the other passengers slowly filed out. The subway station smelled like pizza when I got off, but I didn't want to eat anything at the moment. Then I saw him waiting for me a few ways down. He looked around, smiling instantly when he spotted my short frame over the crowd of people. I was surprised. I couldn't count on one hand how many times I had gotten separated from my mom and had to jump up and down for her to see me.

It took me a minute to take him in. He was short with caramel skin. Must be where I got my build from because Claudia (her mom) was a skyscraper. I always envied her height. I took baby steps over to the man with the same skin tone as me and he looked like he had just finished shaving and showering, unlike his appearance at Claudia's funeral. Rough and ragged, looking as if he had never heard of a shower and a beard like St. Nick. I hoped he didn't do all this for lil' ole me. He smiled at me first, then looked down at my empty hands.

"Got any bags?" His voice was scratchy, much like over the phone. I nodded. He proceeded to the back of the train and I pointed out which ones were mine.

The car ride to his small apartment was only five minutes, but it was a quiet five minutes. I didn't have anything to say and I was thankful that he didn't try to force me to talk much like my aunt. The soft angelic voice of Lauryn Hill played on the radio.

It was cold in New York, of course with it being in the middle of December, but I was used to the cold weather. Forks was the most gloomiest, depressing, smallest city you could think of. Don't get me wrong, having family and friends so close was great at one point, but I wasn't proudly running around telling people I'm from Forks, Washington. In fact I think I'll lie, save some confusion and less talking for me to do. I'll say I'm from Houston, Texas.