* Yo u n g A u t h o r C l u b * Yo u n g A u t h o r C l u b *
Heartwarmers
Fragile Lines
Sharon Skariah Samantha Samuel
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Fragile Lines
Written and Illustrated by Sharon Skariah
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Dedicated to: My loving family and relatives‌ My friends and classmates‌ Special thanks to: Theyellowconverse (cover page photo) Mum (for listening to my stories) You guys (for reading this book)
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Chapters: •
Chapter I – I Hate Life
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Chapter II – How it all happened
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Chapter III – Lands of Kings and Queens.
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I I shrunk deeper into my bed as my mum threw the china vase onto the hard wood ground. The beautiful piece of art which had cost dad a fortune shattered to shards of unwanted pieces of tiles. Tears rolled down my cheeks as the sound of pots and pans crashing to the floor echoed around the house, creeping into my bedroom through the open doors. Dad started swearing. I shut my ears, not wanting to listen to any of it. They were fighting again. But unlike other times today there was a lot of shattering and vulgarity. Tommy let out a squeal as he jumped just in time to miss one of the many plates and glasses being flung around. My dad’s hands rose into the air and in one swift blow his palms connected with my mum’s cheeks. I wrapped my arms around me a heavy silence blanketed my house… mum broke it with a shrill cry of a wounded bird. Dad stormed past her and into his room slamming the wooden door behind him making the whole house vibrate. Mum crumpled up onto the floor weeping like a five year old child. I ran out of the house ignoring the state of the living room and kitchen. I ran till my legs started aching and my eyes started stinging with the cold of the night. The icy bitter cold of the town send chills up and down my spine as a shocking feeling of loss and pain hit me. I could see the twenty five years of love or what they claimed to be love crashing down. I stopped when I reached the creek beside the Miller household. It was the same story there. Fights. Anger. And dispute. But this time it was Mrs Miller fighting with her sixteen year old daughter who had recently turned into a Goth. 4
The girl had coloured her gorgeous blonde hair into a fiery mess of black and red. She wore a contrast of black and neon colours and had cuts all over her arms. The once Ms Teen Sweetheart of our little town had now become the most horrific thing next to Mr Symond's mad bull dog. Her poor mother was sick and tired of her… she was on the verge of breaking down. I pitied the family But who was I to judge? My own family was close to tearing apart. Not only did my parents hate each other, my elder brother was a failure. A complete failure. It hurt me to even think of it. He dropped out of school at my age and then started hanging around with the crazy homeless people from around the town. When dad warned him that he would throw him out of the house, he got a job at a pizza store as a pizza delivery man. It seemed like my brother was getting back on track again… everyone had started smiling again in my house. But then just weeks after that, he started coming home late at night fully drunk. This continued for months and soon my brother became the talk of the town. And soon the fight between my parents started. I didn't really know what they fought about but I liked to think that my brother was the starting reason. And for this, I hated him. Soon dad threw my brother out of the house and told him to never come back… brother couldn’t care more… He left our town. And never came back. My whole body shook as Vanessa Miller stormed out of her house slamming the door behind her running out obviously ending the fight. Through the open window I could see Mrs Miller crying 5
Poor woman‌ I stayed up till all the lights in the neighbourhood were switched off and everyone was sound asleep. Lazily I walked down the road to my house kicking at anything in my way. It was pitch dark except for the round yellow moon which shone above me like a ray of hope. It reminded me of a poem by Christina Rossetti that i had memorised in high school for an English recital programme. I had even won first price for my recital. I smiled looking at the gorgeous moon. I hummed a tune and then sang the poem to my own made-up tune. Is the moon tired? she looks so pale Within her misty veil: She scales the sky from east to west, And takes no rest. Before the coming of the night The moon shows papery white; Before the dawning of the day She fades away. But my quiet voice in the even quitter night was drowned out by the roar of upcoming motorcycles. The head lights glared into my face and I stopped as they whizzed past me narrowly avoiding an accident. I wrapped my arms around me praying that they would keep going and not come back. It was like God couldn’t hear me. They stopped and the sound of the engine died from just some paces away from me. I heard them laughing. Boys. I frowned and then kept walking ahead ignoring their words. I never should have gotten out of home and stayed out so late. Every 6
week there were news of girls getting kidnapped by such motorcyclists and then never returning… And if they returned, they returned back in an almost mental state. I wondered what made them like that. But now there was a possibility that I could end up like those helpless girls with my fate etched into history by these hooligans. One of them whistled as he stated circling around me on his tattered old bike. “Is the beauty lost? Does she need a beast to help her?” he said eyeing my girly dress. I started crying. “Aw! Sweetie, don’t cry.” he said, being as sarcastic as anyone could be. I turned around and faced the guy’s gang. I hated them. I hated them more than anything. What if my brother was with gangs like them? What if he had turned into an animal? This made me cry even more. “Oh my gosh. Wait. Is it you?” a voice called out. A voice so familiar. Yet so far away and lost. The boy came out; he seemed to be of twenty four or five. “Brother?” “Oh my god it’s you!!”My brother exclaimed I looked down ashamed to call him ‘Brother.’ "Sorry kiddo! The boys are just a tad bit drunk.” he said pulling my cheeks with his ruddy hands. I brushed his hand away. He frowned at me, not understanding the meaning of my act. “Hey ya’ll, this here is my lil’ sis. No one harm her!” he commanded, his English raw and uneducated. Immediately everyone looked away and stated talking amongst themselves. The guy who had circled me muttered a sorry and then joined his friend. It seemed like my brother was the leader. 7
I couldn’t bear to look at him. He was a street urchin. A disgrace. “Hey sis, it was nice meeting you. You’ve grown up to be very pretty. Remind me of mum.” he said in much more proper English. Like in front of me he could speak normally and in front of his buddies he had speak like a street urchin to look cool. Pathetic. “You’re not coming home?” I asked innocently. Even though I hate him for the many reasons I have listed till date I still missed him. After all he was my own big brother. He stooped down a bit to my level. “Kid, I am going home. Just not to dad and mum but to my lovely wife and five month year old baby girl.” “You’re married?” “Yes and you, my dear, are an aunt.” he said ruffling my hair I smiled. “Then why are you still with…” I didn't finish my sentence. Instead I just pointed to the hooligans. “Oh, them.” Brother looked at the boys “I was on my way to New York to meet my wife and daughter who had shifted there a month back. I was staying at a cheap lodge in one of the small villages on the way and these boys attacked me. You know your brother…I’m really good at acting and getting away with trouble. So I made them believe that at their age even I was a gang leader and you know they love people of their own kind. So they let me free and even allowed me to travel with them to New York.” He said “Are you telling the truth?” I asked yet not convinced. “Yes kid. I piggy swear” he said smiling. I laughed remembering the time when we were seven and fourteen and I had made him swear he had not eaten my chocolates by saying, “I piggy swear.” 8
“You still remember?” “How can I not? You were the best thing I ever had from our family.” he muttered “Dad and mum must miss you a lot. They have been fighting nonstop ever since you left.” “I dunno kid. No one misses me. I’m sure everyone has forgotten about the reckless kid, son of the mayor, a disgrace.” he spat out the words. “I missed you.” I said as he mounted on top of his bike. “I missed you too kid…” And with that the gang drove away. I smiled and cried tears of joy. After all, Brother had become a real man. Not a disgrace or someone to hate but a real man. I walked into the house the door was unlocked and the house was in the same state it was in when I had left. There were pieces of glass and ceramic on the floor and my mum was bundled up on it, sound asleep with tear stains down her cheeks. I locked the door behind me and picked up all the pieces of glass and china. I then threw a blanket around my mum and ran up to my room. On my way I glanced at the photos framed up on the walls. It reminded me of times when we were a much happier family with a better life. First one was of all four of us at the Himalaya’s, the next of my parent’s tenth anniversary (when I was just a small baby of two.) and next my dad becoming the mayor of the town and then one of my parents wedding day from twenty five years back. The last was of my brothers fifteenth birthday with his head shaved bald and that was the last year we had ever celebrated anything with him. And that was it. After that there was nothing. No picture. No smiling. No laughter and no celebrations. 9
I smiled sarcastically. My dad, the mayor of the town. He was the one who was supposed to make peace in the town. And now the very peace keeper was wrecking hell in his own home. I hate life.
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II I was lost in the dark world. I screamed until my voice caught in my throat and stopped to silence. I collapsed to the ground. The pain was crushing me. It was earsplittingly loud and heavy and it pressed on me like gravity. I swore at my dad. I’d have never done that. But he made me. “You killed her!!! You killed mum!!” I shouted pointing at him looking at mum’s numb dead body lying in the black coffin. “You killed her. You did it, traitor!” I muttered as dad walked out of the house. The house was crowded with the thousands of people come over to ‘mourn’ my mum's death. As if they cared. They just wanted to please the mayor. He walked out and since then, I never saw him back at the house. Mum was buried at the church and I sat there weeping on her wet grave till morning dawned. Dad had killed her. His words had killed her. I still remembered clearly how it had all happened. Days had passed since the incident of dad slapping mum and me meeting brother. Everyday just turned out to be a repeat telecast of that day with shouting, cursing and breaking of valuables. Dad and mum never talked to each other and even started sleeping in different rooms, with mum in brother’s old room. I was alienated and no one spoke to me. No one cared whether I had started going to school to start 11th grade. Or which subjects I had taken or whether I even existed. Every day was a bore and the house was always blanketed by a thick and heavy silence that managed to almost kill me. School came and went and no one cared… dad was running the town and mum was locked up in her room. She had turned into a mental 11
patient. Or an almost mental patient She never smiled or laughed, none of her expressions showed any signs of humanity. I wondered whether she was even human anymore. I typed into Google ‘family’ and immediately a poem came up‌ I took out a sheet of blue paper from an old notepad and scribbled into the book with a black pen. Family is supposed to have your back, Family is supposed to know you, There are supposed to be no secrets with family, There are supposed to be no lies with family, Family is supposed to love each other unconditionally, Family is supposed to be there for you, There is supposed to be understanding in a family, There is supposed to be trust in a family, Family is supposed to be there for you, Family is supposed to understand. I sighed. This was rubbish. Utter rubbish. I knew family. And to me family was rubbish, at least mine was. I scratched the previous note and wrote what I really thought.
Family is supposed to have your back, Family is supposed to know you, But family pushed me down Family spoilt my life Family is supposed to love each other unconditionally, Family is supposed to be there for you, 12
but everyone only loved himself And family was never there for me Family is supposed to be there for you, Family is supposed to understand. Family was never there My family sucks.
The only time mother smiled was when I told her that I had met brother and that he had a beautiful daughter and wife. “So I’m a granny?” she asked smiling I nodded. And that was it. The last smile I ever saw on her face and the last words she ever uttered. I cried every day and alienated myself from everyone. People tried to talk to me at school but I avoided them and pushed them away. The only rest and peace I got was from seeing my results of straight A’s and talking to my best friend who understood everything I went through, he himself being an adopted child. Well I’ll explain. Cameroon was adopted by the town’s burger joint owners Mr and Mrs Raul, but that was when Mrs Raul couldn’t have children. But one day out of the blue big news struck the town as news of Mrs Raul becoming pregnant got out. Mr Raul celebrated with great joy and even gave sweets from door to door as was their Indian custom. I was real happy for Cameroon who then was just a classmate. But soon after the baby’s birth Cameroon started to get avoided by Mr and Mrs Raul. They stopped giving any attention to him and even started calling him a worthless waste of money. Cameroon, the usual star of the class dimmed and soon extinguished. That brilliant light in him had faded and he soon became a part of the class instead 13
of standing out above everyone else. It reminded me of my story. It reminded me of how I once was loved by everyone but now just blended in and sometimes stuck out like a sore thumb. People usually avoided me and there were even rumours of me being the ‘Mayor’s freaky daughter.’ Now, back to my story on Cameroon. So soon people started avoiding Cameroon and he avoiding them. It was as if fate was writing a heart-warming novel, because soon we both bonded. I guess it was all our similarities that bonded us. But whatever it was… I liked it. And with the cycle of her increasing madness and no one to take care of her, my mother’s condition worsened. Every day she looked paler and much more tired. She had even stopped eating. It was like she was half dead. The only thing she ever did was stare at a picture of my brother taking a piggy ride on my dad’s shoulder when he was around ten. I tried to look at the picture and wondered what she found so intriguing about it. And I realised it was the fact that we were just so happy…Just so happy. I threw the picture into the fireplace and watched the fire lick at it, eating it up and killing the memories. But what point was that? It was not like I could burn up the memories in my head, the moments that I had felt… there was no point in anything. But at least it satisfied me and brought a weak smile to my face. And anything that could bring a smile to my face, whether good or bad, was now a wonderful thing to me. Rarely did I smile. 14
And weeks after that mum died… to be honest she committed suicide. I saw her doing it, but I couldn’t do anything. I was a mere child. I came back home from school that day and went into the kitchen to make some tea for my mother. When I went there, I saw a note lying on the table beside a cup of hot tea. I took it. I didn't read it. I just ran to her room. And there she lay froth coming out of her mouth. Pale and cold. I read the letter.
Love, You’re the best thing I ever had my dear. I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you a good life. I’m sorry that since your brother left, your dad and I have been constantly fighting. I’m sorry that I never even looked after you like a mother should have. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a good mother. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be a good person. You’re the only person who has stayed with me till death. Maybe I was a really bad person. A real bad person… Mum loves you and always 15
will. My question is, Do you love me?? And will you forgive me?? Everything I have is in your name. The will is in my locker. The key is around my neck. Good Bye. With love, MUM. III So I sat there on my mum’s grave… in the morning the father of the church saw me lying there and he helped me up. “What’s wrong, sweet lady?” he asked as he sat me down at the foot of the cross. “Everything” “Everything?” he questioned. “Mum died…and I have no one.” “You have someone, my child. You have God. Your father…in heaven.” He said smiling at me lovingly. “What do I do, father?” I asked looking up at the empty cross. “I’m not sure child. But looking at you I know you will grow up to be a wonderful woman. When you grow up and become a successful woman, give this old man a call to tell him that his vision came true.” “I will, father.” I said and then walked away. For six months I stayed alone in the home. Dad came home once every month to give me some money and to see if I was still alive. I 16
knew he would be happier to see me dead than alive because then he wouldn’t have to waste his ‘hard-earned’ money on me. Nevertheless I accepted the money and went about with my lonely life. Cameroon visited me sometimes and even listened to me complain all day till I started crying and then cried myself to sleep. He tucked me in whenever that happened and walked back home with Tommy which he had taken into his house since I was not capable of taking care of it. After six months when all the final year exams were over and all the tension had slid off our backs. When all the school sports teams had either come back disappointed with cuts and bruises all over their bodies or with a golden trophy in their hands. When all the debate teams (which included me) had come back victorious and on top of the world, everyone got ready for the biggest part of their lives…Graduation day. On the day of graduation, dad came home with his secretary by his side and a package in his hand. “Here’s your graduation outfit and a new dress I bought for you with a new pair of shoes and things you might need” his secretary said handing the package over to me. “Thank you.” “I’ll take you to the school today…. We will leave in half an hour” he said, making me rush to the room and change. We rushed to the ceremony for which we were already late since we got stuck in an animal jam with Mr Croft passing by with his herd of cows. Though everyone stood smiling and cheering I knew that we were all at the verge of tears. A girl from my English class started crying and soon like a chain reaction it hit all of us…Even the boys. I smiled through my tears and jumped in glee as Cameroon came back with his certificate of distinction. “Now to reward this award of honour to the best of the best... 17
Our school's pride and honour and our only student from this year’s batch getting into a prestigious school such as University College of London!!!” said the principal, waving his arms around proudly… He announced my name and my heart leapt in my chest as blush rose down my cheeks. I sunk deeper into my seat as I expected everyone to boo and disgrace me… after all I was the ‘freak.’ But instead, a thunder of clapping and cheering went on as everyone chanted my name like it was some patriotic song. I guess it really was a big deal for a small town girl to go study in London. I accepted my award as my dad shook my hand, him being the mayor of the town. And then he made a speech on how extremely happy he was with our results. He said: “Dear students, All of you have lived and grown up in this little town… I’ve seen many of you since you were little babies, especially my own little baby girl who I’m so proud of. First I would like all of us to take silence for a minute in honour of my wife and your classmate’s mother who passed away this day last year. I know it is traumatising to both me and my daughter but look at what she has done. Look at where all the people with the distinction awards have gotten. You can also get there. Because high school was just a chapter in life...You may be upset with the outcome but as I told you it was just a chapter. You don’t have to close the book… just turn the page. Thank you. And good luck.” “Thank you Mr Mayor.” the principal said beaming and then invited me on stage to say a few words. “Uh hey.” I muttered stumbling with no words to say. “Hey!” someone replied back. 18
I giggled nervously. “This speech I’m going to say is from a list of songs I once heard on the radio… I’m just going to convert it into a speech.We all walk a fragile line, and we’ve have known it all this time. But I never thought I'd live to see it break… It's getting cold and it's all too quiet. And your eyes are all on me… and I feel like I can’t trust anyone anymore. And it’s coming over us like it's all a big mistake. I do recall now the smell of the classrooms. The laughs and jokes we made day after day. That first day, the beat of our hearts, it jumped through our shirts; I can still feel the love. Now I’ll go to some other place… and you’ll stay all the same… and we all don’t know how to be something well miss. And as we declare the year over and done with, ill cry and remember every moment I spent with you all. Goodbye. And this is just a small part dedicated to my best friend... Who I sometimes wished meant a bit more. Cameroon, listen…Because I loved your handshake, meeting my father. I love how you were so close to my mother. You’re charming and endearing, and I'm comfortable. But now I’ll go to some other place… and you’ll stay all the same… and all that I don’t know is how to be something you miss. Cameroon, I hope the sun shines and it’s a beautiful day. And something reminds us, and I wish I had stayed. We can plan for a change in decisions and love. I’m not much for such courageous acts. But for you I did. You’re the best friend I ever had. And to the rest of you…I guess I’ll watch your lives in pictures 19
whenever you post on Facebook and I’ll feel you forget me like you use to feel me love. And I’ll keep in touch whenever you’re online and I hope it’s nice where you are. “ And in that way I ended my speech. But none of us could wait for an after party since everyone was leaving for college prep since our vacation had been wasted in sports and debates. So I packed my bag and boarded the plane to London. Cameroon talked to me after the speech and even cried. I laughed because I found it funny to see a strong guy like him cry. “Bye Cameroon.” I said and that was the last person I talked to other than my dad before leaving my little town. Dad drove me to the airport near town and I slept throughout the ride since it took almost five hours to reach. I sat down on the plane flying to Heathrow, London. I didn't care who was sitting beside me and I just slept off till the lady beside me woke me up. The lady looked very much English. She must have been beautiful once... But she had grown old. And with age, her features had deteriorated. She eyed my shorts, “Let me guess, you’re new to the United Kingdom?” she asked. “Yes I am… why do you ask?” The woman could easily be eighty years old. She looked just so fragile… yet so strong and determined. “You won’t survive in that piece of cloth in London. You better get shopping once you reach there.” She said scrunching her nose like I was some dumb idiot. “That’s what you woke me up for?” I asked, annoyed at the woman. “Don’t be so ignorant, my dear. But I guess it’s normal since you’re so young. The airhostess asked me to wake you up. We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes” the woman replied smiling. 20
I blushed feeling stupid. "I’m sorry, ma’am.” When the plane landed on the kingdom’s soil, big news broke as the captain announced. “Osama Bin Laden has been captured and killed by the USA.” On hearing this I screamed, “God Bless America!” and some Americans screamed with me. People who were not from America just looked at me like I had just escaped from a mental hospital. The woman beside me muttered, “Crazy Americans…” My heart sunk. This was the respect my people got in my dream land? I had flown all the way here when I could have studied in Brown University, just because I wanted to study in the land of kings and queens… The United Kingdom. And the welcome I received was just pathetic. I repeat, pathetic. I stepped foot onto London’s soil with my spirits low and my enthusiasm crushed down by the gloomy cold and bitterness in the atmosphere that blanketed London. It was so cold and I was freezing to my bones. I smiled at random people and they smiled back. But it wasn’t warm like the smiles I got back home. Maybe I was just homesick. But I kept the smile plastered onto my face. I passed by a little church on my way to the taxi stand. I went into it. I bend down and stood my knees with my hands folded. I prayed“Dear God, The father of the church back at home once told me that I had you for a father. I may have no one now, and I’m really lonely with no one to lean onto in time of need. I mean, Who cares if no one likes me? Who cares if the world's against me? 21
If I don’t care… who can? I miss Cameroon, school, the little town of mine but most importantly mum. I know mum's with you and she must be really happy. And I have no father to love me or no father to love. So I'll love you. I don’t know if it's proper but I guess it’s worth a try. Please accept this prayer and please be my father. Tell mum I love her. Please bring a smile to my face again. I don’t know how to pray but please teach me to. Love you.” There was a new found strength and confidence in me that I could feel was oozing out of me. Every move of mine showed it…Every smile…Every word. “God bless America!!!" I shouted out into the street when I saw a girl walking by with the American flag printed onto her t-shirt. “God bless ya!” She shouted back from across the street. People shook their heads… but I did not care. That’s what you do… when you fall, you get back up… when you get too high and up there, come back down… and when the world slaps you... Slap them back.
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W h a tthe is
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To find out more about the Young Author Scheme, please contact Catherine at Experiences & Experiments Tel 6336-8985 Fax 6348-8375, or visit www.catherinekhoo.sg
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This ‘she’ is whom this story is about. This ‘she’ who remains unnamed throughout the book could be you, your sister, your best friends or even your worst enemy. For years she lived seeing her life breaking down into pieces right in front of her eyes. The more she tried to fix it the more it fell apart. She cried alone everyday just because she was too scared to show the real world how hurt she really was. She lost her friends, she lost her mother but the one thing she did not lose was her self-respect. In the end she turned out victorious and crossed that fragile line. So when someone asks you, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Just say what she would have said, “Happy.”
My name is Sharon Skariah and I study at Global Indian International School. I have a passion for reading, writing and speaking. I get pure joy out of seeing a piece of work I have done getting completed. The broken lives of a selected few, combined with my own life of being one teenager feeling lost in this complicated mess of a world is what makes up my stories. I believe that I should be proud of every scar in my heart because each one holds a lifetime worth of lessons.
An Experiences & Experiments Books Pte Ltd Imprint ISBN No. 978-981-4320-69-6
Tel 6336-8985 / Fax 6348-8375 www.catherinekhoo.sg 26