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|God's Cruel Irony (standard:drama, 2839 words)|
|Author: Prurient Virgin||Added: Feb 14 2003||Views/Reads: 2054/1220||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A young boy has to grow up way too fast. It's almost TV Afterschool specialish.|
God's Cruel Irony The old saying goes, “There are two things certain in life: Death and taxes.” I don't know about taxes, because I've never had a job, but death is something that I definitely believe is certain. I should be scared, but my pastor says there is nothing to fear about death, as long as I have Jesus in my life. Jesus, there is another thing I am not certain about in life. I mean.... “Derek, can you come downstairs please?” The booming voice of Derek's mother echoed throughout the house interrupting Derek's thoughts. “Damn, I forgot what I was going to write. Oh well, I'm sure it will come to me later. Guess I better see what she wants,” Derek says to himself, as he flips his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, putting his black t-shirt on which seems to be one size too big. He throws the journal onto his bed, looks at himself in the full length mirror, rubs his bald head and heads downstairs. “Yeah mom, what do you want?” “You know what time it is don't you?” She smiles at him, knowing he's forgotten the time, but not with the least bit of anger. She even expected it, knowing how often he writes in his journal and gets lost in thought. “No, I didn't forget. I guess...well, I pushed it out of my mind, that is all.” “Well, I didn't, so grab your coat. We have to go.” “Damn it, I hate this.” “Derek, watch your mouth! I know you hate it honey, and I hate it as much as you do, but it has to be done.” “Why even go, mom. Not like it is helping,” Derek says in protest. “Derek!” His mother scolds him. “Don't say things like that. It is helping honey, you have to believe that.” “Whatever mom.” “Derek, come here and sit down. We need to talk.” Derek grudgingly follows his mother's orders and sits down at the small round table in the kitchen. “Honey,” Derek's mother compassionately says, “sometimes in life we are faced with problems...” Oh great, Derek thinks to himself. Not another one of these life talks. I love my mom, but sometimes she has to realize that I'm not as young as she wants me to always be. It's just plain annoying how she tries to explain things to me that I already know. “And most importantly, I love you. Do you understand?” Derek's mother asks, interrupting Derek's thoughts. “Yeah mom, I get it.” He says tiredly. “Good, then go get your coat, we have to go.” “Fine.” Derek stormed off into the living room of the small, quaint, four room townhouse that he and his mother occupied. It was small, but it was adequate for Derek and his mother. All a house really needs is a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom and a living room, and thankfully this house had all of them. Derek's mother slept on the couch because she was gracious enough to let Derek have the only bedroom. Although it was small, it looked like a palace, and to Derek and his mother, it was. Derek grabbed his coat off the coat hanger that was nailed to the right of the fireplace and he put it on. That, like his shirt, seemed to be one size too big. “Lets go,” Derek said as he walked back into the kitchen, and made his way through the only entrance and exit in the house. Derek's mother closed her eyes in what seemed to be a short prayer and locked the house as she followed Derek. “Thanks for doing this for us Mr. Watkins,” Derek's mother said as she got into backseat of his old '87 Ford minivan. Derek had already occupied the front seat. “Not a problem, my good lady,” Mr. Watkins said with the highest manners. “The folks around town will do anything to help you good folks out. Just don't hesitate to ask.” “Derek, don't you have anything to say to Mr. Watkins?” Derek turned his head as he shrugged and said impassively, “Thanks Mr. Watkins.” Mr. Watkins laughed and patted Derek on the shoulder. “Don't mention it, sport.” Derek just turned and looked out the window, his eyes seemingly lost in deep thought. “He's just a little nervous,” Derek's mother said. “He always is.” “That's understandable,” Mr. Watkins said in his deep, aged voice. “It can't be easy on him. Or you.” “No, it isn't. But we are doing all our best to get through this.” “Yes, just remember like I said. If you need anything, just ask.” The rest of the car ride moved along slowly, in silence. As the minivan reached closer to its destination, Derek got more lost in thought. How will this turn out? Will everyone who sees me ask the same questions? They ask them when they know I'm going to give them the same answer. It is always the same answer. “How are you doing Derek?” They'll ask. I'll answer them, “Fine,” when I secretly want to scream that them, “WHAT DOES IT MATTER?! YOU DON'T REALLY CARE! AND WHY DO YOU KEEP ASKING? YOU THINK I'LL TELL YOU HOW I REALLY FEEL ANYWAY?” Maybe they do care, I don't really know. I mean, some people really are good and do care about other people, but there are those that feign sympathy to gain points with God, as if that will do the trick. Derek's mother's voice snaps through Derek's thought process. “DEREK, LET'S GO. I'M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU AGAIN!” Derek looks up and out the window and realizes the destination has been reached. The tall, dreadful building Click here to read the rest of this story (152 more lines)
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