Children possess an innocent and delicate essence that requires utmost protection from any harm, abuse, or neglect that may cause them to lose their purity.
They are akin to a precious rose burning brightly in the darkness, radiating an unending glow that remains untainted and unblemished. However, this purity can be extinguished, leaving them vulnerable to the harsh realities of the world.
Like a pair of lungs taking in the fresh air, a child's spirit is initially fresh and clean, untainted by the world's pollutants. But when exposed to harmful influences, it quickly becomes soiled and corrupted, losing its initial radiance and innocence.
~~~
"How was school?" I asked as I looked down at my sister, Racheal. Her eyes squinted as she looked up at me, clutching a crumpled paper in her tiny hands. Excitement danced across her face as she revealed the news: "Miss. Adams said we are going on a field trip!"
Intrigued, I scanned over the papers and discovered that Racheal's class would be traveling all the way to New York to watch a play, and they would even get to stay overnight for a few days. My eyes widened as I saw the downpayment was a whopping 100 dollars.
Still, my attention was quickly drawn back to Racheal's hopeful face. "Do you think mom would let me go?" she asked.
My mind raced with possibilities as I considered her question. "I don't see why she wouldn't," I replied, a grin spreading across my face. "You've been good and you've kept your grades up." I playfully flicked her forehead and felt a surge of pride at her hard work.
"Ah, decisions, decisions," I say, rubbing my chin in a playful manner. "Are you feeling the crispy, succulent crunch of chicken nuggets or the juicy, savory goodness of hamburgers for dinner?" I ask with a mischievous grin.
Her face lights up as she juts out her hip, pushing up her backpack with boundless energy. "Pizza," she exclaims, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
I can't help but laugh at her enthusiastic response. "Well, that's certainly a curveball," I say, amused. "But let's try to stay on budget, alright?" I tease, giving her a playful wink.
~~~
I placed the empty cup under the spout, turning on the faucet to let the water gush out. I lifted the cup to my lips, tilting my head back as I drank in long, satisfying gulps. The cool liquid cascaded down my throat, providing a temporary relief from the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. As I lowered the cup, my eyes wandered over to Racheal. She was nibbling on a slice of hot, fresh pizza, savoring every bite as if it was the first meal of her life. The aroma of melted cheese and spicy sauce wafted across the room, teasing my senses and making my mouth water.
"Are you going to work again?" she asked, breaking my trance.
"Yeah," I replied, placing the cup in the dish rack with a loud clank.
"Before you go, can I talk to Mom?" she pleaded, her voice breaking with emotion. I watched as she sucked in her lips, the tension in the room palpable as she contemplated whether to push the subject or not.
"Can it wait?" I asked, trying to keep things under control. It was always a touchy subject when it came to Mom.
"I just need to talk to her, even if it's just for a little bit," she protested, her frustration evident in the way she slouched onto the bar with a fuss. "I don't understand why she suddenly left," she added, her words trailing off into a whisper.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, knowing that this conversation was inevitable. "Okay, fine," I relented. "I'll make the call and see if she's available."
She looked up at me with wide eyes, a glimmer of hope shining through her sadness. I popped out my phone and made a few adjustments, ensuring the call won't go through.
"Mom!" Rachael screams into the phone, her voice quivering with anger and sadness.
"What do you want? I thought I said never to talk to me again, and yet you continue doing so. Are you a fucking retard?" The venom in her words is palpable, each syllable dripping with scorching hatred.
But I know the truth - the person on the other end of the line isn't our mother. It's one of my co-workers, the one who's been harassing me for months. I've been secretly recording her conversations, waiting for the perfect moment to use her Insults to my advantage... As Rachael hands me back the phone, tears streaming down her face,
"She didn't mean it," I whisper, but the words feel like sandpaper in my throat. Each syllable scratches at my insides, reminding me of the pain I've caused.
"How could she be so mean?" she asks, her voice fragile and small.
"I know," I whisper, but it feels like a lie. With that, she should stop asking to see or talk about Mom.
Mom is gone, and I know the truth. It'll crush her innocent soul, and I can't bring myself to do it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She can thank me later, once she's old enough to understand the weight of the truth. For now, I'll bear the burden of our secret alone, my heart heavy with the weight of it all.
I didn't even flinch at the idea of faking my mother's signature, considering I had already done it more times than I could count. But now, the real predicament was the hundred-dollar bill. I had recently paid my bills and was left with only a measly thirty-dollar note. The gravity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks, leaving me anxious and pondering what to do next.
I checked the time, only to realize that I had to rush to work. I made a mental note to deal with it later and headed towards the door, my mind still racing with the possibilities of how to get the cash I so desperately needed."
"Lock the door behind me and don't open it for anyone," I growled, slamming the shoddy door behind me as dirt and grime wafted in the air. The same old colorless street greeted me- a dilapidated wasteland teeming with broken windows and shadowy alleyways.
The flicker of passing headlights illuminated my path as I walked down the lifeless sidewalk, the occasional street light casting a sickly yellow haze over the sidewalk, where bugs hovered in a mindless trance. Like them, I too was drawn to the light- the only thing keeping me from the pitch-black darkness surrounding me.
For it was in those dark corners, lining the empty streets, that death loomed, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting. It's where throats got slit, where people rotted, and where anyone who dared to turn their head was met with painful silence.
But in this city, people didn't care what happened in the dark- they turned a blind eye to everything. And as much as I hated to admit it, I was no different.
***
As I enter the fluorescent-lit supermarket, the hum of the fluorescents is interrupted by the sound of Kendall's footsteps coming towards me. She walks past me, her shoulder bumping into mine forcefully as she spits out the venomous words, "I hope you die, Cocksucker". I turn back to see her walking away, her tired and irritated expression telling me that her ire has nothing to do with me and is aimed at the world in general.
I make my way to my station and take my post behind the register, mechanically taking the money from the customers and handing out receipts. Young or old, tall or short, pretty or ugly, it makes no difference to me. None of these people matter. All that matters is the $100 I need for my sister to see that godforsaken play.
As I'm lost in my thoughts, feeling the weight of my responsibilities, an old lady extends her hand towards me, holding out a crisp $100 bill. My heart stops for a moment as I look down at the palm of my hand, stunned to see the exact amount I need. I tear my gaze away from the money, looking up to meet the old lady.
"I hope this will do, I don't have any ones on me," the old woman rasped, her bony fingers fumbling with her tattered purse. The woman was a mere shell of her former self, stooped with age and wearing clothes that looked like they had been passed down from a long-lost era. Her voice was rough and raspy, the result of years of chain smoking. I couldn't help but wonder if she could scream for help if something were to happen.
"It's fine, truly," I assured her with a small smile, carefully slotting the bill into the register. I took my time getting her change ready, trying not to rush her. "Do you live around here? I've never seen you before-- and I usually know everyone around here."
A long pause stretched between us as the woman rummaged through her purse, her gnarled hands trembling slightly. "Well, yes," she finally admitted, her eyes downcast. "I came here to visit my grandson, but now that I'm here, I hardly ever see him." Her words were tinged with bitterness, and I couldn't help but wonder if her grandson had his eyes on her life insurance rather than her company.
I gently leaned in towards Nina and said, "You know, spending time with you would be an absolute pleasure." Her eyes sparkled with excitement and she leaned in closer, hanging onto every word I said. It was almost too easy to capture her attention.
As she reached into her purse, I couldn't help but feel victorious. I had her wrapped around my finger, eager to give me her contact information. My heart raced as I looked at the card, realizing that this was just the beginning of our connection.
"Nina, what a stunning name for a stunning woman like yourself." I couldn't resist letting a flirtatious smile cross my lips as I looked up at her.
"Please, call me when you have a moment," Nina said, as her eyes lingered on me a moment longer, taking in my figure before walking away from the store.
I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction wash over me. It seemed as though her attention was mine for the taking, and I was going to make the most of it. Seems like my sister is going to that fucking play afterall
---
I walk to my manager's office to clock out. I grip the door handle and open it, only to see my manager having sex with one of his employees. Despite witnessing the horrific scene, I felt no emotion and continued to observe the situation with a blank expression.
It appears that after harassing her for endless nights and making sexual advances, the manager lost his patience and took matters into his own hands. He's not stopping despite the woman's screams or the blood running down her legs. It's clear that he's just happy to have this opportunity. Without any reaction, I steadily walk closer to the scene and crouch down to pick up a pen to clock out before leaving.