Garret walked to school the same way he always did, looking down on the cracking concrete ground, to the

bland grass colored bright greens to browns from burning in the sun. Kids around him laughed and talked together, a groupa tribe, walking hand in hand or hands around each others shoulders. Back packs jingling with the various chains that dangled on them. Garret, didnt you bathe today? Jarred said, he was tall and lean, muscly even. The girls loved him, he played varsity football in school and dated Sarah, the only girl Garret ever loved. She was the captain of the Volleyball team. Garret kept his head down, he didnt want to get beat up today. They laughed at him and made fun of him, and all he could do was look down on his broken down converse, the black colour turning into a soft grey, the soles of his shoes were so thin that his stocks could almost feel the hardness of the ground. It was hard to be like this, it was always hard since his father died. When he got to Milton High, the students were already making their way to classes. It took Garret at least forty minutes to get to school, to calm his mother down first and put her to sleep before the nurses go there. Classes were dull, every day Garret saw the faces of kids who looked at him weirdly. Marissa McAvoy the daughter of the chief would death stare him every day. Thats right, they would look at him this way until he died. Youll be exactly like your dad, Garr. Simon said. At times, Simon would be alright, even sitting next to him in classes. But its different, Simon was part of this place. His father didnt run over a pregnant woman from drunk driving. Yes. The memories were fresh in his mind every day. Like a band aid being slowly ripped from your arm after the blood dries out. Painful. Dreadful. Sickening. It pained Garret to think of his father in those waysa criminal. It was July 12 2010, the same day Garret was going to try out for the baseball team. His mother pulled him out of school, her noseher eyes were red, tears still streaming down her face, her nose was runny. This was the saddest Garret had ever seen her. Whats wrong Mom? What happened? Words he could never take back, words the caused him pain to think of everyday. His mom drove them to Whitechapel Hospital, the Intensive Care Centre was where his dad lay. Numerous tubes of clear liquid and red gloopy liquid were strapped on polesto IVs to his fathers body. Hes lost a lot of blood. His heart is slowly failing, Im afraid we cant do anything anymore. Were so sorry. The doctor looked stressed, his clothes were clean and his shaved dark hair showed how tired he really looked. Sympathy couldnt help the dead though, can it? Garrets mother just sat crying harder and harder, not even wiping her runny nose or the tears from her eyes. She clutched the bruised man, blood on his face was beginning to dry up the bandage showing a slight crack and disfigurement to his head. His arms were plastered, so were his legs. The heart meters sounds were growing fainter and fainter. The memory was so clear in Garrets mind. Pain. The loud beep stopped and finally followed with a long and continuous beep. He was gone. The tears from his others face disappeared. She was so still now. Her face expressionless, she was a mess, wearing shoes that didnt even match. Her hair was all over the place, and she just sat thereas lifeless as the corpse rotting on the bed. Im not sure your mother can explain how this happened. Shes in serious shock. The doctor said to Garret, his voice echoing with concern. How? Garret asked, his voice deceived him. He must have looked like a lost boy, with the tears still faint on his face. Your father missed a turn on the intersection, the car lost control and he didnt hit the break hard enough, a pregnant woman was involved too. Shes still in the emergency room. Were not sure if sheor her baby would make it either, your father was drunk, Im sure he didnt know what he was doing. The police will come by as soon as weve checked theyour father. Im so sorry for your loss. That was the end of it. The police questioned Garret and his mother continuously. Is your father usually drunk?, Does your father usually drink?. Numerous questions that were useless. The woman he ran over was Amelia Collins, she was eight months pregnant and left the house cause she ran out of milk. The baby suffocated and Amelias heart gave up before they could even try to revive her. The husband of Amelia Collins was heartbroken, their other child Christopher was only three. Even if Garret just lost his father, he was sure he didnt receive the same amount of grievances as the Collins. He got hate mail though, a lot of it. Ever since they began coming he would rush to get the mail to stop his mother, whos heart was now paralysed. Everyday a nurse would come in a take care of her so Garret could go to school, every day he would receive threats and get beat up and told things about himself. It didnt always used to be like this. Now Garret was walking on the train tracks going home, it would take another forty five minutes to get there and soon he would have to face his mothers expressionless face. She didnt even cry anymore, thats why they called the nurses for help, she stopped eating, drinking, bathing and speaking. It was as if she died the day her husband died. Garret looked up, the sun was beginning to set, the oranges and reds disappearing over the horizon as the baby blues and pinks and purples took over. He hadnt seen anything beautiful in a whilenothing was beautiful, everything was a reminder of how beautiful life should be. After all, you only live once. That was just it, ever since the accident, he hadnt really spoken to anyone but Simonor the teachers. His mother never went out or cooked anymore, and Garret memorized the taste of tuna and PB&J sandwiches. They were

nothing new to him. Everything was bland and colourless. He wished every day that he would come home to his father in the couch watching Days of our Lives whilst his mother cooked meatloaf. Those were the past days gone and truly irrelevant. He got home to Samanthathe nurse, giving him a smile and telling him she actually responded to food today. He thanked her and she left, closing all the doors and shutting off all the electricity, his mother sat by the window again waiting maybe, for a miracle that was never going to come. He didnt belong to her now. She belonged to her own world. She was so far away. Hey Mom, do you want anything to eat? He would ask as he always did. And as always, she would ignore him, not even looking up. Her eyes were blank but you could see the pain through them. It was like a mirror for Garret, he could see his reflection, he could see how he looked to her. He looked like him. And she could never bring him back. Im going to go make dinner and go to bed. Sleep soon okay? No response. Garret walked to the kitchen, took out all the specific ingredients for his dinner. The loaf of bread was there, the spicy tuna and PB&J. He sat by himself on his fathers chair, looking to see if he could get a sign. If he could only change the past. Garret stared at his hands, then to the silver gleaming butter knife of the table. It shone to him like bright lights of the police car that came to his house every day until his father was buried under the ground. Boom. They didnt want him. The butter knife was like a wake-up call, bringing him back. It looked like something that could save him from the pain. Save him from his mothers continuous ignorance. Save him from getting beat up every day from the people who saw him as his fathersaw him as a monster. Only now did he realize how tired he was, to face the pain. The peoples judgement. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that raised whenever he opened his eyes first thing in the morning. Cause the truth was, Garret was tired. Of everything, no longer could he take waking up to what he knew was depression. He couldnt show them he was weak but he was! He could see it, his life was flashing before his eyes on the reflection of the butter knife that he held to his wrist. He had to try, he thought. He raised it to his arm, slowly plunging the gleaming knife to his skin. Drops of red liquid fell to the hardwood floors. Its over. Its done.