One-Shots: 13

The room of a High School Senior about to drop out

She’s not in the room right now.  But her sisters are.  They’re in the bed, sleeping.  There’s a damp cloth on their heads.  The poor twins are sick with a fever for the fifth time that winter.  They are currently tucked under a mountain of too-thin blankets.  It’s bitterly cold in the room, and the howling wind against the glass echoes throughout the room.

It’s bare inside, a single bed and desk and not much else.  There’s folded clothes neatly piled against one wall.  And while the wooden floor is freezing cold to the toes it is clean.  A single photograph sits on the desk.  It ’s a picture of a happy family.  Mother, father, and the five children.  The oldest being her, still cooking in the kitchen, and the youngest being the baby boy.

Only the four sisters remain.

The door opens and the last sister enters.  She’s older than the twins, but still young enough to be in elementary school.  She’s carrying her homework in her hand.  She stands at the desk and works with what light is given to her from the window above it.

There’s no chair in the room, that’s in the kitchen right now, but there is a rolled up sleeping mat under the desk.  It’s big enough for one, but both her and the second eldest sleep there.  That would be until the twins are better.

On the desk beside her homework is a crumpled up letter from the school.  It says that if she doesn’t start attending classes again she is going to fail.  It says that it’s a shame such an accident happened to her and her family.  It says that the school is saddened that such a bright, young mind is going to lose all that potential.  There is an angry remark penned into the paper still readable around the crumbled up letter.

Family comes first