Prompt: Young Ethan's birthday, but his parents are working so he's all alone. Idk, I just want it depressing......
A.N.- JEEZ, CALM DOWN THERE SATAN.
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Ethan sat in his bedroom, his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. His parents were at work, but they had promised him they would have cake and presents when they got home.
The now 12 year old boy was left on his own. His parents had asked him if he wanted a birthday party, but he had said no. He had no friends to invite to a party.
He glared down at his feet. Other kids got birthday parties. They would have all their friends over, and eat cake, open presents, laugh, and have a good time.
Ethan spent every birthday with his mom and dad. They would sing him happy birthday and his mom would light the candles on the cake they had made for him. She would tell him to make a wish and blow the candles out.
Every year he wished for the same thing. He wished for friends.
But his wish had never come true, and he doubted it ever would. He knew his parents felt bad they had to work today, but he had smiled and told them it was fine.
It wasn’t fine, though. Ethan felt horribly alone.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and imagined a large group of friends singing to him. “Happy birthday to you.”
But when he opened his eyes, there was no one there, just an empty bedroom. His eyes watered and he sniffled.
A tear leaked down his face, remembering the year his parents had tried to throw him a party and no one had showed up. He buried his face against his knees.
He stood up after a few minutes and went out to the kitchen. His birthday cake was sitting covered up on the counter.
He pulled it down and set it on the table, uncovering it. It read “Happy Birthday Ethan!” with “12” on the bottom.
He looked at them empty chairs surrounding the table and closed his eyes, letting his imagination go wild. He could picture friends sitting in each chair, smiling at him, getting ready to sing.
“Happy birthday to you,” he started again, singing himself the song. When he was done, he kept his eyes closed and pretended to blow out candles, imagining his friends cheering.
But when he opened his eyes, he was alone again, and the candles weren’t even in the cake, and no one was smiling and cheering.
More tears gathered in his eyes, and he buried his face in his hands. He wished he had never been born.
He pushed himself out of the chair and went to his parents’ room, grabbing paper from the printer in there. He grabbed a marker and sat down, drawing smiling stick figures on the paper.
He returned to the kitchen and sat them in each chair, filling the table. He sat back down in his spot, looking at the smiling stick figures.
Tears welled again, spilling over onto his cheeks. He was so alone. So horribly alone.
“Happy birthday to you,” he sang, his voice choked with tears. He stopped, unable to finish his song as he began to sob, wishing he had just one friend to spend the day with, wishing he had anyone, knowing his wish as he blew out the candles would be for a friend.
