One Last Day

    A silvery cloud of rain shrouded the city, choking out the sun and discharging a general dreary atmosphere over the area. The morning was still, damp, and silent, as a very small percentage of its population had risen from bed to recommence a daily routine. What little light was provided was bleak and gray, and it seemed as though the day was destined to be gloomy and dismal.

    Despite the overcast sky cloaking the town, Becca Patterson, sixteen years old, woke that morning with a light, free ecstasy fluttering in her chest. She sat up cheerily and stretched.

    This is it, she mentally rejoiced. Tomorrow, I’ll be able to spend my day without worrying about him all along. Nothing could ruin this day for me.

    The sophomore fell back on her bed with a plop, deciding to take a minute to meditate on the good fortune that was sure to befall her that evening.

    The young girl’s father, an older man of fifty-seven years of age, had finally decided to retire from his position as head of the local police force. For years, Mr. Patterson had clung to his standing, considering it a substantial honor to risk his life daily for his beloved town, where he had been born and bred. Becca agreed wholeheartedly, but day after day of worrying for her wonderful father had eroded at her spirit, until she’d become nervous almost constantly. He’d miraculously managed to elude injury his entire career, but that didn’t stop her from fretting. When her father announced his decision to retire, her relief had been momentous. Her mother had died when she was four, and she and her dad were exceptionally close, most likely due to her mature nature.

    Suddenly spurred on with energy-inducing enthusiasm, Becca leapt from her bed and scrambled to locate some decent clothes. She swabbed her face with a few dabs of makeup, hurriedly brushed her teeth, and scurried down the stairs.

    Ryan Patterson, his dark hair streaked with gray, sat at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. A sizable plate of bacon and pancakes was perched on the table before him. Becca’s stomach growled hungrily.

    “Daddy!” she squealed, bounding across the room to glomp her father with a generous hug. Mr. Patterson tensed, taken by surprise, and then set his drink down to return the energetic embrace.

    “Good morning, Becca,” the man smiled. “Did you have a good sleep?”

    She bobbed her head enthusiastically, beaming. “Yeah, I did, but what about you? How are you feeling?”

    His grin faded slightly, but quickly recovered. “I’m feeling great, sweetie. Thanks for asking.”

    Becca frowned, her expression inquisitive. “What’s wrong?”

    He leaned back slightly, breaking the wilting hug, and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Oh, nothing. Just a gut feeling, but I’m sure it’s no big deal.”

    “Your gut feelings are never wrong, Dad. What is it?”

    “I dunno, I just…It’s the weirdest sense of foreboding. I certainly hope it’s nothing.” Suddenly, he glanced up at the ticking clock and froze. “You’d better hurry if you don’t wanna miss your bus.”

    “Shoot!”



    Becca’s school day passed in a blur; all the classes and monotonous lectures seemed to blend until they were no more than an indiscernible smudge. The hardworking teen usually paid more attention than that, but she was just too hyper today. I hope I didn’t miss anything important.

    As the dismissal bell rung, signaling her release to freedom, Becca hurriedly stuffed her books into her bookbag and raced through the quickly filling hallways. She was the first to evacuate the building, and impatiently tapped her foot in wait for the bus.

    In the distance, a police siren wailed. The girl stiffened warily, her mind immediately expecting the worst for her father, but she soon shook herself from her scare. The alarm slowly faded into no more than a memory as the police car passed out of hearing range.

    The old, paint-chipped bus creaked to a stop in front of her. Becca scrambled inside and curled up on a seat in the back, mentally willing the driver to hurry.

    Thus began the long, tedious drive home. Becca rolled her eyes at the immature hooligans whooping wildly and talking in unnecessarily loud voices, and tried to shut out the noise. A spitball whizzed past her head, but she paid it and its origin no heed.

    Ten minutes into the ride, a sudden vibration jolted her from her daze. The sophomore pulled her cellphone out of her jeans pocket, curious as to who would call. The number was blocked. Eye twitching irritatedly at the clamor surrounding her, Becca plugged one ear and held the phone to the other.

    “Hello?”

    “Miss Patterson?”

    “Um, hi.”

    “This is Molly, from your father’s police station. I hate to inform you that there has been a serious issue, and we will need you to be present at the station in thirty minutes. Is that alright with you?”

    Becca’s stomach plummeted. What had happened? Why was she wanted at the station? Her voice croaking, she mumbled, “Y-yes ma’am. Thank you.”

    “You’re welcome, sweetie.”



    Thirty minutes later, Becca sat in a chair in the station, her father’s most trusted accomplice before her. The officer’s cheeks were streaked with tears, cued by the news she’d just told delivered, but Becca felt no sadness. She felt nothing. Her brain was not working.

    “Y…you’re saying he’s…”

    The officer, a Delia Jones, swallowed visibly. “He’s in the hospital now, but they told me there’s not much hope. He w-was hit right in the throat, and people rarely recover from injuries like that…”

    Her mind could not register the fact. Ryan Patterson could not be dead. He had survived his job all these years, why would he get hurt today?

    “Becca, I’m so s-sorry…” The woman extended a shaky hand to rest on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

    “Am I okay? Am I okay??” she screeched, lurching backwards. “My dad is dead, of course I’m not okay! You were there. You were there, why didn’t you save him? Why didn’t you save him?!!”

    Becca glared up at her from narrowed, hateful eyes. Delia’s cheeks were now thoroughly soaked, and the girl knew she was probably being too hard on her father’s deputy, but she didn’t care. Her two choices were anguish and fury, and it was so much easier to be angry right now.

    “It’s all your fault he’s dead. I hate you.”

    With that, the tears broke free. Becca sank to her knees in front of her chair, her lip quivering wildly. Fat droplets of salty water dripped from her chin, soaking her shirt and chilling her to the bone.

    “I…I c-can’t…” She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut. “He can’t be gone. It’s not true. He’s…He’s my only family!”

    Her eyes reflecting her same desolation, Delia lowered herself to her knees so that she was eye level with Becca. Tentatively, she reached out to wipe a glistening tear from the other’s cheek. “Sweetheart, listen to me. I know. It’ll all be alright. Before he was carried off to the hospital, he told me that you don’t have any other living family. Now, I’ve known you and your f-father for a long time, and I think he trusts me. He told me that he wants for you to stay with me, if you want that. What do you say?” she queried gently.

    Becca shivered desolately. Staying with Delia would mean living with the biggest reminder of her father that she had, but where else would she go? It seemed to be her best option to accept, but maybe after her raging outburst, it would seem insensitive to do so.

    “I…” She trailed off, her throat constricting. If her father had wanted her to stay with Delia, the least she could do was fulfill his last wish.

    “Okay.”






…I'm a horrible person. xP Oh my goodness, my mind is so morbid…At least I didn't write the scene where he died, though, right?