Falling Like The Stars || UNDER HEAVY EDITION ||

One

"You've no choice," Mum declared as she poured her coffee in the cup. "You're going to school, Blake."

I dropped the half-buttered toast on the plate, turning at her immediately. The crunch of it that had delighted me earlier seemed to have transformed into an award which I had to fight for.

"No, I'm not. You know it'll turn up a mess," I objected her statement. It was impossible that I could even ever leave my room, and here she was, talking about school. Again.

Although I've attended school before, I was cautioned by the teachers that I should not be troubling any students with my disease. Every school's prosperity seemed to fall bleak when I stepped in them. That was probably when I realized that the society would never accept me. I'd always be the person sitting at the far edge of the room, with a mind that no one would understand.

No one.

"Blake Clarke Williams, you're departing to high school this Monday. You've grown to be the only teenager who hasn't proceeded to school for two years now. I don't want any further arguments," Mum spread the strawberry jam evenly on her toast. The dark circles under her eyes patched up her skin tone, giving her a perfect panda look. I looked at mine, and it had suddenly dulled into pale ordinary bread. I heaved a sigh, slaughtering my appetite further.

Mum strolled to the porch, sipping her regular morning refreshment. From the back, she appeared like a typical skinny mother, who had been dieting to get rid of the fats she never had. But the front beamed the reality that she failed to hide— A mother of a cystic fibrosis patient, who had lost weight tremendously from her body in two prompt years, gaining them in her anxious mind. The worried mind that had drifted away her sleep from her life, continuously wondering about her only child's future. Her lips had chapped due to forcefully laughing when someone cracked a joke, deprived of the plump moisture which she had when Dad was here.

It had just been two years since my Great Tragedy, and she had already shrunk into a shrimp. And amidst all these, her mere desire was to never let me know her struggles.

Instantly, as if erupting like a volcano, realization hit me. I frowned at the mutual thought of what if she just wanted to get rid of me? It wasn't her fault that she didn't want me here anymore—nobody would want a sick teen in their home whose illness is eternal. Irrevocable, and permanent. I shuddered at the mention of "eternal". The guilt for Mum softened into a narrow stream of amateur thoughts.

I rushed to the porch and sat beside her. The golden rays of the spring sun clashed from heaven, swirling behind the fresh leaves of the old oak tree, immersing us into its splendor. The breeze kissed my face, seizing regret to bury me—for it knew I could never cherish its virtuous fragrance. The tubes under my nose deepened the regret. I clenched my fist under the long loose sleeve that gleamed peach in the sun. "But Mum, the students—"

"They've got to adjust," Mum looked at me with her solemn, gray eyes. The pale white curls slithered from the swanky bun, magnificently merging with the rest of her chestnut brown hair. "We can't just let you be here when you've got so many dreams."

I sarcastically yanked a snigger. Dreams? Yeah, right. As far as I remembered, they got crushed the day I concluded with this disorder.