Normalities
My name is Sydney Parker but, you can call me Sid. I'm funny, goofy but sometimes shy. I like to think of myself as extroverted and outgoing, but my friends think different. Well I say "friends" but in reality I only have two, but I'm fine with that because they're all I could ever ask for.
They're always there for me when I need them and whenever I'm around them, I just feel like there's nothing else I'd rather do but be with them, and I've never really felt that with anyone else. I can't really explain it but, it just feels... Right.
But anyways, back on topic. If I were to get a job, I would work at minimum wage, so I make my money off of selling lemonade on the streets, no I don't have a permit which allows me to do that and yes, I know what you're thinking,selling lemonade on the streets! I know it sounds a bit dodgy or unusual as my Dad used to say, but honest! I'm able to pay my rent and water bill and all that stuff.
But, from time to time it does pop up...his death. My dads death.
I was nine when it happened I was just your frail, delicate and annoying average nine-year-old, but one day when my mom (Jennifer) was driving me home from school, I found him:the deep gash on his head staining both the white marble floor and his black plaid shirt in a thick coat of red blood which was still pouring slowly but noticeably out of his head.
I can't remember everything that happened word for word, but I do remember letting out an ear-piecing screech which was followed by a waterfall of tears the size of Niagara Falls if not then bigger.
An ambulance was called around five minutes later by my mom who remained calm and avoided eye contact throughout the whole scene.
Back then I thought it was because she didn't care, but I now realize it was, so she could hide her tears from me. That night I could hear her crying and wailing through the house walls. Despite the amount of noise she was making it was still pretty obvious to me that she was trying to avoid making as much as noise as possible.
My mom didn't tell me this until I was 14,but my dad died from a head injury which happened due to some oil that had been left on the kitchen floor...he slipped and cracked his open. Ever since, I've had to have therapy for the PTSD that traumatic event gave me. It once got so bad I tried to commit suicide until my best friends, Shelly and Tyrone stopped me from jumping off a bridge.
Sometimes I wish they hadn't been there to stop me: then I wouldn't have to go through all the trauma, all the pain, all the bullying, all the mental health issues I've had to deal with over the years, but fortunately I'm slowly recovering thanks to therapy.I remember doing some stargazing that night, the sky was a navy blue almost as dark as coal and the stars glistened like crystals dancing in the night sky, twinkling in harmony with the cosmos as the moonlight reflected onto a pond nearby. It was a beautiful sight, a truly beautiful one indeed.
