Gone

A Story by Nathan Baretto

A short story on dealing with the loss of loved ones.

Abu's body trembled. His eyes kept open restlessly, and his arms numbed. Fear kicked at his head, for what reason he was not sure. No it wasn't because of the thunder outside, or the bugs that lurked beside him, or even the brisk air hitting against his rough skin. No, this stuck out as different. It was an unexplained eeriness. Odd it seemed, considering Abu was used to stressful circumstances, and frankly not affected by them.

His home was one; a miniature, and enclosed space without much comfortability. It served well nonetheless. The streets were filled with much worse, and a shelter, no matter in what condition, was always comforting. The foundation had one window, and through it Abu gazed at a bolt of lightning flash before his eyes. He sat up from his bed. Sleep was no given, at least it hadn't been for the past week or so. His father's voice crept in his head. "You are never too weak." Abu felt tears forming in his eyes. He knew his father was gone and nothing would bring him back. "Gone." A word with meaning to Abu, although he wished not.

Despite numerous attempts to wash it away, the memory continued to circle his mind. He'd come home after hanging out with his friends one day. His mother sat on their only chair, hands masking her face to conceal much sorrow. "What's wrong Ma?" he asked. It wasn't often his mom cried, much less in front of Abu and his brother. "Abu, Abu, Abu," she whispered out continually, tears falling steadily. Now he knew something was wrong and he began to cry as well. At last she composed herself and said; "Abu, your father is dead." No phrase was more simple, yet incomprehensive at the same time. The rest was nothing more than a blur. Abu could only remember weeping, unable to understand things. "Why?" He'd ask that constantly, praying his dad heard him. He didn't.

His face contorted thinking back to that on the rain-filled night. He couldn't understand why someone would shoot his father, for the life of him he was puzzled. He grasped at a feeling of anguish to his father, but it was foolish. it wasn't his father's fault that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Abu was patient no more, so he walked over to a cupboard, designated for pictures. Many family photos were scattered around. Abu smiled. His favorites were always the ones with his mother, when his father was not around. He wished he had more with him.

Just then his mother's voice floated through the air; "Abu." it scared him at first, but immediately after gave him some relief. He nodded, and his mother saw him through the narrow light. She put a hand on his shoulder and told him to lie down. He closed his eyes as she began to tell stories in a soft voice. Her words were gentle and caring, as if dissolving Abu's struggles. He drifted off to sleep, replaying her tone over and over like a recording. His mind was off, but his heart was on. He didn't feel perfect, he would never be. Despite of his loss, there was still a glimpse of hope, a sign of well-being. It was a simple thing, yet it felt huge to think about; He'd been given two parents, and he still had one.