56 missed calls

1 unread message

My heart stopped beating as I read and reread the message that destroyed what it meant for me to be alive and happy. 

Unknown Number 1:49PM: Zenna, this is Kimmy, from your mother’s work. There’s been a terrible accident…Your parents are dead. 

I stood frozen in shock as I read those seventeen words that shook the very foundations of my world.  

No. 

My parents can’t be dead. I just saw them this morning. 

This can’t be true. 

I refuse to accept it. 

I sat in the reception area of Cosava Hospital while pretending to drink a cup of hot tea, wrapped in a thin shawl. 

Police had arrived at my graduation ceremony and asked me to claim the bodies. 

Claim the bodies…no. This can’t be true. They can’t be dead! 

My hands clenched around the thin styrofoam cup and I felt tea leak from the holes I made. 

I didn’t care. 

Not anymore. 

“Ms. Harrison,” a gentle voice called out to me. 

I lifted my tear-stained face and met the kind eyes of Officer Ambrose. He was an older cop with a kind face. “Yes?” 

“It’s time.” 

“O-okay.” I whispered, setting my ruined cup of tea down on the table. When I stood up, the shawl I was using fell to the floor. I was still wearing the dress my mom had picked out for me, the watch my father gave me, and the necklace…the necklace… 

Tears spilled from my eyes. I followed Officer Ambrose through a maze of hallways and doors. It was explained to me that my parents had been caught in the middle of a gun battle on the streets of Cosava. Two rival gangs decided it was time to take action and go to war against each other. 

As it turned out, that war cost my parents their lives. 

A spray of bullets penetrated their windshield and…

I was told that they died instantly. 

That they didn’t feel any pain. 

But they had to have felt something before they died? 

Right? 

To die…to die so suddenly and in such a terrible way… 

No. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

Not on my graduation day. 

Not on my birthday. 

Please.

No. 

I was called back to reality when a firm but gentle hand touched my shoulder. As my eyes refocused, I could make out a pair of doctors looking at me with sorrow etched in their eyes. I could see another person standing inside the room with a neutral expression on his face. I could imagine just how many times he had to go through this process.  

He was probably immune to the smell of death.

It was everywhere. 

With tears streaming from my eyes, I followed Officer Ambrose further into the room that housed patients who died in this hospital. The hospital decided to hold my parents’ bodies here instead of forcing me to pay for outside services. 

I was grateful for that but… 

“Can you confirm these people are Andrew and Carrie Harrison?” Officer Ambrose asked me softly. 

This was all formality. 

So why was I hoping that these two lifeless bodies weren’t my parents?  

I took a step closer and stared down at the pale bodies of two corpses.  

“Y-yes. I can—I can confirm that—that th-they are my pa—par—parents.”

I collapsed on the floor in tears. 

Sobs racked through my body and I couldn’t breathe. Snot poured from my nose and my eyes were screwed shut in pain. My heart ached with the weight of sorrow and I couldn’t bring myself to stop. My breaths came in short gasps and I was curled in a ball, whimpering.  

“You can’t be gone!” I yelled aimlessly. “You can’t be gone.” 

Please. 

Come back to me, Mom. Dad. 

I’ll do anything. 

ANYTHING!  

“Please don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.” I wailed in a pitiful plea, hugging my knees close to my chest on that cold, concrete floor. “You were supposed to watch me graduate. And then we were supposed to go out for my birthday dinner and afterwards, eat Dad’s homemade ice cream and cookies.”  

I was rocking back and forth, biting down on my lip to keep from screaming. This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. 

“Ms. Harrison, please, you have to get up now.” I didn’t know who was speaking to me. My mind was blank—numb with the pain of grief and guilt. I knew it wasn’t my fault for their deaths but—but— 

Strong hands reached down to pick me up. I let out a gut-wrenching scream. The person who reached for me was Officer Ambrose. He held me like a babe until I cried myself to sleep.  

It was dark and empty when I entered my home. 

Nothing was waiting for me here. 

Nothing at all. 

I mechanically walked through every room and turned on every. Single. Light. 

I turned on the radio and television. 

I sat down. 

I ruffled through a stack of books. 

I gave up. 

My stomach growled.

I slammed my forehead down on the living room table.

I forgot it was glass. 

It broke. 

A piece left a jagged cut on the top left of my forehead. I could feel the blood running down my face.

I didn’t care.

This was nothing compared to a bullet.

This was nothing compared to death. 

With a bleeding forehead, I made my way to the kitchen. I could see a pristine stack of plates and glasses set out for what would have been tonight’s dessert. Tonight’s celebration. 

“No,” I whispered. “There is no celebration. THERE IS NO CELEBRATION!” 

I ran into the kitchen and took all the plates and glasses and slammed them against the floor. When some of them didn’t break, I fell to my knees and smashed the rest with my hands. I could feel them bleeding from where the glass cut me, but I didn’t care. I DIDN’T CARE.

Once I finished destroying those, I got up and started opening cabinets at random. 

Everything that was glass I smashed against the counter—against the floor. 

“DO YOU HEAR ME?” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “I REFUSE TO CELEBRATE! DO YOU HEAR ME? I AM NEVER CELEBRATING!” 

Sobs tore their way from my body. I collapsed in a pile of broken glass. I could feel the pieces biting into my skin. I was beyond the point of caring. I curled in on myself and cried and cried and cried. 

I couldn’t stop. 

When I finally woke up, I looked around me in shame. 

My forehead throbbed and my hands looked like I had played with glass and lost the battle. Snot dried on my face. I left it there. What was the point in looking nice? 

I glanced at the clock and saw it was two in the morning. My stomach hungered for food. My eyes pricked with tears. I opened the freezer and took out my father’s homemade vanilla ice cream. 

I spotted the cookies on the counter. 

I took out a gallon of milk and drank it straight from the jug. 

There appeared to be no glasses left.  

I sat down on the kitchen counter and ate the entire tub of ice cream along with the fifteen or so chocolate chip cookies. 

I finished off the milk. 

I looked down at the empty ice cream tub. Tears escaped my eyes. This was the last homemade food I would ever eat. The last meal my father would ever make. The last meal that connected me to my parents. The last time I would ever taste vanilla ice cream. Or eat chocolate chip cookies. 

My parents were dead. 

And I was alone.  

All alone.

Please.

Come back to me. 

I’ll do anything. 

Anything. 

I love you, Mom. 

I love you, Dad. 

I can’t say goodbye. 

Don’t be dead. 

Blood from the wound on my head found its way into my eye. I cursed the heavens that night.