"You are still on your phone?" my mother asks, trying to sound angry and intimidating. "When will you start studying?" she says as she comes closer.
"You've been on your phone since morning," she adds, trying to take it from my hands.
"Relax. I'll start studying after this match," I reply, pulling the phone away from her.
"Start studying before your father comes home and sees you in the same position you've been in since morning," she says, finally giving up and walking away.
"Yeah, yeah. Just a minute," I answer, uncaring, still playing.
SFX — AAAHHH! (crowd screaming)
Is that the television?
And play…
And play…
"Get up."
I hear the voice, not realizing my father is standing right in front of me.
"Get up, I said," he repeats, his voice loud and menacing, his face twisted in anger and soaked in rage.
Without a word, I get off the bed and start walking toward the door.
"Where are you going?" he asks, not calming down.
Before I can answer, he continues, "Give me your phone. I will break it today." He holds out his hand.
"No," I reply, unfazed. It's normal for him to say things like that.
I try to leave again, but he stops me, grabs me, and slaps me across the face.
"I SAID GIVE ME YOUR PHONE!" he screams. His hand trembles as he realizes what he has done.
"Okay," I say, handing him the phone. "Have fun with it."
I remain calm, though confused—it's the first time he's hit me in over a decade.
SFX — A distant WEE-OOO grows louder…
An ambulance? What is this? Is someone dying nearby?
Realizing he's just angry about something unrelated, I shrug and start to leave.
"Shut up and start studying before I give you another," he yells.
Now I start getting angry too. Hormones flood my head, but I try to stay calm.
"Yes, Dad, I am go—"
Before I can finish, he says something that haunts me to this day.
"You don't study. That's why you failed last year."
He's breathing heavily now.
My mother, who has been standing outside the room, silently watching so she doesn't anger him further, finally speaks up to calm him.
I wish she had intervened earlier—before he mentioned last year, or before I said something I regret to this day.
If I had known this would be our last interaction, I wouldn't have said anything like that. I would have thanked him. I would have apologized for not becoming the child he could be proud of.
I would have said, "Dad, I love yo—"
"Oh yeah? I definitely didn't fail and get publicly humiliated, or suffer anxiety, because you couldn't even provide the basic necessities required to be called a dad," I blurt out.
My face burns red—my light skin always gives me away.
"What did you say?" my mother intervenes, slapping me for daring to speak back. "Apologize to your father. Right now!"
She coughs, her eyes watering with anger, her face turning red too. I guess I get that from her.
As I realize what I've said and search desperately for a way to apologize, my father speaks.
"Then leave my house."
My mother turns to him, stunned.
Before she can say anything—
SFX — BANG! (a door slams shut)
"No!" my mother cries, her voice breaking. "*****, don't leave. He didn't mean it."
But I'm already gone.
I wander…
And wander…
And wander…
Until I realize I'm climbing the stairs of a tall building, heading toward the roof.
SFX — Stretcher wheels rattle loudly on rough pavement.
"We need to move him fast!"
Move who? Is someone really dying? Was there an accident?
I sit on the edge, lost in thought, and only then realize I'm crying.
I think of ways to apologize—not because I was thrown out, but because of what I said to someone who sacrificed everything for me.
A man who fed me while going hungry.
Who bought me clothes so I could attend my friend's birthday instead of replacing his torn shirt.
A man willing to give his life for me.
I hurt him.
No, I tell myself. I won't give up. I'll apologize until he forgives me.
As I move away from the edge—
I slip.
How could I slip before my foot even touched the ground?
I couldn't have slipped… right?
Then why am I lying here, bleeding everywhere, broken by the fall?
Hurting.
Did I really slip?
Oh… it's me.
I'm the one dying.
But… I don't want to die.
Isn't dying terrifying? Being alone?
Mom? Dad?
Am I really dying before doing anything with my life?
Leaving you to grow old without a son?
Can I even call myself your son?
Maybe it's better if I die. You wouldn't have to worry about me anymore.
I just wish I had apologized.
I just wish I had said, I love you.
As my consciousness fades, paramedics lift my head from the ground.
From the edge above, a golden glow shines down.
Is that God?
I think—
And then I die.