Priceless

Last Letter

I furrow my brows at the letter from David. It's weird it came in a week instead of the next day. Something must've happened at his place...

It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. This is useless and I hate this assignment. If you want, you can stop writing. I don't care. I wish you the best of luck with this assignment.

Woah. He must really be going through some stuff. Wait! If he's quitting on me, then that means I'm going to fail this class! Again!

I quickly run to my room and start to write down a letter for him.

Woah! Dude! Don't do this! I can not fail this class again! Whatever is going on, just forget about it and--

No no. This isn't right. He'll probably stop looking through the mail. And I can't know which David it is in my class because there are like three Davids in that class!

I pace around my room and a light bulb turns on in my head. I know! I'll start like we were in the beginning!

I quickly open my laptop and open a new message to email him.

David. Please don't do this to me. I can't fail again and I know we're not supposed to see each other, but--

I start to erase this message when I hear my father call out to me. I look at the door and then at my laptop. With an angry groan, I leave it open and go to the living room where he's drinking his beer.

"Yes?"

"Deirdre. Did you get that job I told you about?"

"Yes."

"Where is the money?"

"I gave it to Mom."

He angrily looks back at me and I'm left confused at what I did wrong. "Why did you give it to her?!"

I shrug with surprise. "I just thought that--"

"No! You don't think. You just do. You give it to me! Not her! No wonder she's not here..." He throws his empty beer on the floor and burps loudly. "Bring me another beer from the fridge."

I quickly do as he says and he snatches it out of my hand. "I found another job for you--"

"No. I can't! I have school!"

"You're going to work at night for this."

"No. Please. I need that time to study and--"

"I don't care! Now shut your mouth and listen!"

My lips quiver and I watch as he stands to say, "There's another job. It's to transport drugs to a neighborhood. All you have to do is grab the bag, drop it off at their meetup spot, and leave. That's all you have to do. It's not that hard."

My mouth drops at this. "What? I'm not going to do that! I can do anything but that!"

My father sends a slap across my face and I hold my burning cheek with wide eyes. He snarls at me and yells, "I don't care what you think! You will do what I say and that's that!"

"But Dad--"

"Don't call me that!" He sends another slap at my face and I fall to the ground. But this isn't enough for him as he angrily hits my arm from the ground. "Don't you get it?! I don't want you. I don't love you. And you don't deserve to call me a father because all you've done is cause harm!"

"Dad...Please. Stop..." Tears flood my vision and I try hard to block out his stabbing words, but I can only block the best I can of his hits.

"Shut up! You don't deserve to talk! You will go and do as I say or I will take you out of that stupid school of yours myself! Get out!"

With loud sobs, I crawl my way back to my room and the last yell I hear from him is, "You're worthless!"

I can't breathe as I pant and cry out to nobody. I know no one will listen. No one has ever listened. But I still lean against my bed and let my heart cry one more time.

I look for that painting in my pocket and the wrinkles from folding it so many times have dimmed out its beauty. Just like me.

I stare at it and realize that nothing will ever change. This picture was only an illusion. A small fake speck of color that got dimmed out from the gray skies.

So why keep looking for color when it's all run out?

I slowly go up to my laptop and stare at the unfinished email. It's funny. I thought this boy was my only hope, but even he has lost hope.

I look up the tallest bridge in the city. Once I find it, I jot down its address and take out a separate piece of paper. I stare at my fountain pen. I used to see its shine but now even this seems so dim.

My hand unconsciously starts to write out my last letter to the world.

This is my last letter. It's been a long ride, but enough is enough. I wasn't even meant to breathe and I'm reminded of it every day. Now I see it. The colors have run out and the white canvas is a neverending sheet of gray. I can't seem to find its purpose and it's okay.

So here I am. I'm ready.

I think it's about time to put down the paintbrush and stop trying.