Tears of the Young

Tears of the Younga short story by Shreya Chowdhary
            

She was running. 

    Her feet tripped and dragged behind her as she stumbled through the playground, the damp mulch soaking the bottoms of her shoes, and then her socks. In only a simple plaid dress, ending at her knees, she shivered. Goosebumps lined her skin, and yet, she felt warm inside, like a fire bloomed, filling her with indescribable emotions her immature mind couldn't begin to grasp. Dark-dappled clouds loomed ominously over the oblivious girl, who paid no mind to the foreboding sings of a storm. Thunder crackled impatiently, as if the sky wondered whether the young girl would awaken to her senses and follow her class, running inside. Through her peripheral vision, Amy could see her teacher, tha lady's soft brown eyes filled with concern for the young girl. 

     "I don't know why she's so worried," said Amy, her voice hushed so the woman watching could not hear her. She stopped running, her legs and lungs aching at the effort required for the race. Bonnie didn't seem tired, though, Amy noticed with a single glance toward her pale sister. Not even after their  lengthy race, her sister's brown eyes held the same cheery, energetic light they'd held when the duo had begun their recess. This astonished Amy; her sister was practically Superwoman! "I feel perfectly fine. Do you feel perfectly fine, Bonnie? I hope you do. You look incredibly pale." Bonnie smiled at her sister's concern, placing an eerily-glowing hand on her shoulder. 

     "No, I feel fine as well," she replied, her voice gentle and soft, as if the thought of answering in anything louder than a whisper was incredulous. "Come on, Amy. Forget about your teacher. Let's play!" Amy giggled at her sister's excitement, beginning to skip once more, her energy replenished to the point where she burst with energy - just like Bonnie. She wanted to be just like Bonnie. 

     "Oh Bonnie," she laughed, her hand gripping the pale, transparent hand of Bonnie as the two skipped together around the perimeter of the playground. "Of course!" Joy burst within her, in spite of the steady drizzle that had begun to shower on the ground and the constant anxious expression on Mrs. Brown's face.

     The pair skipped merrily for a few jovial moments, Amy feeling a high level of ecstasy, before a voice interrupted her delight. "Amy, please come inside," said the shy, caring voice of Mrs. Brown, who'd shrunk into the doorway. Amy internally groaned, feeling annoyed at the inconvenience. She turned to Bonnie, her blue eyes dark, her eyebrows furrowed as she curled her fists. 

     "I have to go," she said despondently, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. She'd rather stay outside with Bonnie, instead of go inside, where everyone would stare at her as if she were an alien from Mars. She always felt weird among the other students; they would always erupt into whispers whenever Amy was around them. With Bonnie, Amy felt happy, among other feelings she couldn't possibly describe or comprehend. 

     Bonnie smiled, despite the dread crawling into her stomach. "It's okay," she replied sincerely, her hand on her sister's shoulders. Amy raised her eyes to meet those of Bonnie's, gazing into the chocolate-brown pools of love and comfort, wishing she didn't have to leave. "I'll be waiting for you when you come out. Have fun." Amy snorted, visibly frowning. 

     "How can I? You're not going to be there!" She knew it was extremely childish of her to be whining like this, but Amy couldn't resist. Bonnie was her only friend: when she walked inside, Amy would be walking into a chess board, a pawn trapped between other, more able pieces, wondering possibly to go. "Why can't you come? Please?" 

     Bonnie laughed, her laughter melodic and  sweet, an epitome of the girl herself. "I'm sorry, Amy. I have to do other things! I'm truly very sorry." A certain melancholy filled Bonnie's voice, a nostalgic tone to her smile as she hugged her sister, wrapping her thin arms around her sister's small frame in a reassuring manner. "I'm really sorry." Amy mumbled her acceptance of Bonnie's repeated apology, returning the embrace, though internally, she wished Bonnie would come with her. 

     Amy kissed her sister on her cheek, feeling regret as she waved one last time, before turning and trudging to where Mrs. Brown stood, the tall, attractive woman staring at Amy with the strangest of expressions. Mrs. Brown escorted her last, little student inside the school, staring at the empty space Amy called Bonnie. 

     Uniform blue walls surrounded her, a mellow and comforting color. She focused on the tiles lining the ground; a pattern of yellow and white, she noticed. She knew if she looked up, she'd see more of the hallway, more rooms with kids who wouldn't understand if they tried, and adults who'd stare at her with sympathetic expressions  and speak with comforting tones, though Amy never knew the reason for that behavior. She wasn't hurt. Everything was fine. 

     Mrs. Brown led Amy into her head room, a white room with colorful chairs and shelves, and other visually appealing furniture. Many kids would find the room pleasing, thought Amy as she glanced around the carpet where the other students had gathered. Every student was squished together, leaving a space about the size of Amy between the boys and girls, as if they couldn't decide whether to classify her as a female or male. Amy felt an emotion deep within her heart as she stared at the spot; a mixture of disgust, pain, and loneliness. 

     "Amy? Please take your seat, honey," said the soft voice of Mrs. Brown as she nudged Amy forward toward the secluded spot. Her head bent low once again, Amy stepped forward, maneuvering around the other kids and sitting in the spot, squeezing herself so that she could shrink to an unnoticeable size. Oh Bonnie, she thought, staring through the window at the playground, where she played and rejoiced in the bliss and euphoria only her sister could give her. Why can't you be here?

     The girl and boy on either side of her shuffled closer to their friends, erupting in whispers as they glanced back and forth between Amy and the friend they spoke to. Amy curled her fists into balls, wishing she could yell at them to look at her, and tell her what she'd done wrong. What's happening? What did I do? Why do they look at me like I'm an alien? Why won't anyone speak to me? Amy's mind burst into a jumble of messy, unorganized thoughts. 

     Mrs. Brown, an uneasy expression on her face, forced a smile, addressing the class with a fake confidence. "Hello class! Did you all have a nice playtime?" The class responded in a chorus of yes, in which the group's voice was so much louder and overpowering to Amy's feeble answer. She felt like a puzzle piece tossed to the side by ignorance and alienation. "That's fantastic! Guess what day today is, class?" The class exchanged looks with each other, sharing secrets with suggestive smiles. No one glanced at Amy, though, communicating with her through their eyes. She tried to catch the eyes of the other girls, and even the boys, but no one looked her, or if they did look at her, they quickly averted their gazes, instead paying attention to one of the other normal kids. "It's Share Day! Today, we're going to share who we want to be like when we grow up. Remember, this is a person, not a job. Bianca, please start us off. We'll go to Amy then, and so on." Bianca, the girl beside Amy, grinned and shared her aspiration proudly. 

     "I want to be a pretty princess like Princess Aurora!" Amy thought this was an idiotic ambition, (how could she, an insignificant girl from Oregon become a princess?) but she clapped along with the rest of the kids. Some kids applauded Bianca louder than others, more enthusiastic despite the stupidity of her response. Mrs. Brown motioned toward Amy, gesturing for her to share her idea. Amy already knew who she wanted to be like, and she said this proudly, her voice holding a condescending tone toward Bianca. 

     "I want to be like my sister, Bonnie!" 

     Instead of applause though, the other students began laughing, some pointing at her as if she were being ridiculous. Why are you laughing? What did I say? I was serious! She screamed inside her head, confused and embarrassed by the way the other kids laughed at her answer, some mimicking her. Bianca was laughing hysterically, exchanging whispers with her friends. Tears welled in Amy's brown eyes, a pain much worse than the disgust of being isolated blooming within. Why are they laughing at me, Bonnie? she thought, her cheeks flaring red as she blinked rapidly, trying to conceal the tears. 

     Mrs. Brown glanced uneasily from the laughing students, to Amy's humiliated expression. She rose from her seat, and strode to where Amy sat, hoisting Amy to her feet. Amy grabbed her teacher's hand, following her kindergarten teacher to the outside of the classroom. Even at the entryway, the laughter of the students echoed in Amy's head, punching her and giving her an intense headache. What was so funny? 

     Crouching, Mrs. Brown glanced at Amy's face. A traitor tear slid down her cheek, even though Amy commanded herself to stop and control her emotions, like Bonnie would've done at that moment. She felt hurt inside that everyone would ridicule her; and for what reason? What was wrong with wanting be like your sister? Amy didn't see the humor in that! Bianca wanted to be a princess, yet no one laughed at her! Mrs. Brown used her thumb to wipe Amy's cheeks, smiling affectionately. 

     "Amy, are you okay, honey?" she asked, her voice softer than usual, her eyes holding concern. Amy weakly nodded, trying to muster a smile, even though she felt like bursting into tears and confusion. Mrs. Brown raised an eyebrow, seeing through Amy's facade. "Please don't cry, honey," she mumbled, pulling Amy close to her body, hugging Amy kindly. Mrs. Brown's hug felt like Bonnie's hug, engulfing her with warmth. For some reason though, her teacher's embrace did not comfort her. She felt cold, bitter, icy - warmth melted around her. 

     Amy sniffled, attempting to withhold the anguish, agony bubbling deep within in, ripping apart her joy, the joy  Bonnie had given her, into measly, miserable pieces. "Why were they laughing at me?" she mumbled, her voice demanding and nonchalant, yet still with an underlying tone of hurt and intrigue, the need to know why she'd suffered today. Mrs. Brown visibly gulped, the mood changing into a sad expression, and an expression Amy didn't recognize. Adults weren't supposed to look so weak, she was sure of this. She'd never seen her mommy with such a vulnerable expression, even on the days when Daddy didn't come home. 

     "Amy, you must know this," said Mrs. Brown, keeping her voice absolutely gentle, without a single trace of rudeness or cruelty. She held Amy's hands, rubbing comforting circles on the smooth skin, brushing her brunette hair out of her mouth. Mrs. Brown stared into Amy's eyes, continuing tenderly and with empathy in each word. "I am truly very sorry. You must understand: I speak the complete truth. Please Amy, listen to me very carefully when I say this. Do you understand?" Amy  nodded, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Mrs. Brown smiled, though the smile didn't reach her eyes, half-hearted and with a hint of dolefulness within it as well. "Good." She inhaled deeply, releasing slowly as she continued, her voice almost inaudible, coated with empathy. "Bonnie is dead." 

     No. 

     Amy was certain Mrs. Brown spoke a web of lies. She lied when she said Bonnie had passed; no evidence could faze her five-year-old mind. Mrs. Brown spoke a lie when she claimed she spoke the entire truth, for this wretched statement was a lie, as was the fact that she was truly very sorry. Bonnie was not dead, never had been, and had a long ways to go before she would die. Amy had spoken to Bonnie just this morning; she'd seen her, in the flesh, very real. How could she be dead, if Amy had just spoken to her this very morning, not ten minutes ago? 

     "Stop it," she mumbled, glaring at Mrs. Brown with all the ferocity she could accumulate. Mrs. Brown's face fell at the tone of Amy's voice, releasing the small girl's skinny hands as she stared at Amy with a regretful expression. The remorse on Mrs. Brown face ignited the anger within Amy. She raised her voice, repeating the statement. "Stop lying to me! My sister is not dead, Mrs. Brown! That can't be. I spoke to her just this morning. She is not dead!" 

     Mrs. Brown opened her mouth, speaking with the same sickly sweet voice. Amy wanted to scream in frustration at the sound, the pity lacing every word; why wouldn't the woman be honest with her?  Why did she try to convince her otherwise? Was this a ploy? Mrs. Brown thought she was strange, deranged, an alien, just like the other kids, didn't she? "Amy, please -" Amy silenced Mrs. Brown with an ear-piercing scream, a loud, harsh, and disruptive voice, anger fueling her. 

     "NO! STOP IT! BONNIE IS NOT DEAD! SHE IS NOT DEAD!" Her voice reducing to a whimper, Amy blinked rapidly once more, trying to restrain the ocean of tears battling to stream through her eyes. The more she tried to reassure herself, the more doubts were raised in her mind. Bonnie wasn't dead... Right? She wouldn't leave Amy to fend for herself in the big dark world, where Amy was but only a small piece, easy to crush and destroy. Bonnie wouldn't do that to Amy, would she? 

     "She wouldn't do that to me," she mumbled, more to herself than to Mrs. Brown. Amy stared at her hands, the hands that had the held the pale ones of Bonnie, as if they could give her the answers to her question. "She wouldn't leave me. Bonnie's not like that; she would never leave without telling me." Amy, at the time, didn't realize how absurd her statement was (after all, how could someone tell a loved one they were to die?), but she didn't care. All she cared about was seeing Bonnie, proving to Mrs. Brown that she was not dead. "Bonnie, come out! You haven't left me! I know it, you know it! Come, come! Don't be shy!" Amy shouted into the air, looking around wildly to see the smiling face of Bonnie.

     Five minutes passed, and Bonnie still hadn't appeared. 

     It seemed like all the years of hugged-away tears, and jovial play dates vanished during those five minutes. Amy's heart dropped to the bottom of her chest. Every kind action Bonnie had ever done for her, every bone-crushing hug, every inspiring smile, every scab healed by a joke, disappeared. Amy's anger disappeared with these good endeavors, replaced by a sadness that clawed at her stomach, and swallowed all the happiness she'd been basking in only fifteen minutes ago.

    "Bonnie! Come! You haven't left me! I know it! Please, please!" She sobbed now, her voice choking as she tried to stop herself from crumpling to the ground, to stop herself from falling into a heap of weakness. "Please Bonnie... Don't leave me!" She wailed, an immense cry as she sunk to her knees, crying, sobbing, without the fierceness that had pierced her words before. Amy couldn't stay wrong any longer; she couldn't deny it any more. 

     Bonnie was dead. 

     The realization pain was greater than the pain of being alienated, of being isolated, of being ignored, of being laughed at - it greatly overpowered those. It was a monster crawling into her heart, devouring her deepest joys and twisting her intenstines into knots. It was a needle piercing through her chest, an agonizing pain spreading from her heart to her fingertips. It choked her, it swallowed her, it strangled her until Amy was forced to collapse onto the ground, wrapping her arms around herself to stop herself from dying of an unbearable depression. 

     "She left me," Amy muttered, her voice the softest of all, delicate and fragile, easy to break. She didn't wish to believe it, she didn't want to believe it, but by the pitying expression on Mrs. Brown's face, she knew she had to believe it. It took all of Amy's willpower not to begin crying once more when she finally spoke the statement she wished was false. "She left me."

     "Oh, Amy," said Mrs. Brown, still crouching, as she reached for Amy, pulling the small, broken little girl to her body. Another round of tears escaped from Amy's eyes, a pain stabbing her heart as she sobbed into her teacher's chest, the statement finally registering in her mind. This was not something she could erase with the eraser of her pencil, or obliterate with a single flip of the sheet of paper. Mrs. Brown had no control over this. 

     Bonnie was dead, and that was that.

This was a difficult short story to write. I wanted to pay tribute to the Boston Bombings, but I didn't have much time on my hands, so I threw this together in one sitting of about two hours. I didn't have the chance to proofread, so I apologize for any mistakes... I am a Grammar Nazi, so I understand the pain xD.

Anyhow, I hope the story was realistic enough. I haven't (thankfully) dealt with death before, so this is purely speculation, but I hope it tugged your heartstrings. Reading over it, it certainly tugged mine... though I may be a bit biased, lol. 

Please be respectful to my work and not copy it; though I'd be flattered if you do so, I'd be angrier, and an angry Shreya equals misery for all, haha. Seriously, though, I did devote much effort into this, no matter how horrible it is, and I'd like for you to not take credit for that effort. 

Thanks for reading! I hope to have another story or poem soon! :D
~ Shreya