The Lightless Sun: A Short Story, Part II

The Lightless Sun: A Short Story 

Part II

Unexpected reunion.

I did not expect to see her again, at least not in this situation. I could barely recognize her when I transferred into her class that morning. Rose wore a dark purple lip with a dramatic smoky make-up and a shabby leather jacket. She had become a totally different person in that gothic style. When I glanced at her, a callous vigilance came into her eyes.  She acted as a dreadful evil-spirit sent by Lucifer. Where was that lovable girl I was used to know? Was she still the same person as before? 

It was obvious that many students alienated her. I heard many rumors about her tragic family story: her father, a violent alcoholic, accidentally killed someone in a brutal activity related to a sinister gang smuggling organization. After I learnt about what she had gone through, a distressed felling had echoed in my heart. It reminded me of the woeful music she had played.  

It was evident that she knew me. She acted even more oddly around me than in front of other people. I made every effort to interact with her. However, it seemed like she wanted to be alone. Intentionally or unintentionally, she evaded me whenever I intended to talk to her. I felt anxious about her reluctant reaction towards me. If I could not get access to her, then I would never find out what was really going on with her. If so, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to help her out. Although I would say that the way she expressed herself did not reveal what she really was, and I was very likely the only person who had laid eyes on her true features. There wasn’t any evidence to prove that my speculations were right. What if she was satisfied at the moment? What if she did not want any help at all? What if she really changed into this cold-blooded creature? 

“Hey, what are you doing? You have been staring at the same spot for about an hour already as if you have been petrified.” My thoughts were interrupted by my classmate, Sam. Just at that time, I saw Rose walking along the hall, lonely and antipathetically. Seemingly, there was an invisible sickle, chopping apart the connection between her and the rest of the students, who were frolicking around with each other, joyously and happily, except her.  

“Are you thinking about Rose? You must be kidding.” Sam noticed the direction of my sight. 

“What is the matter” I asked. 

“Promise me, just pretend that she does not exist, or you will bring trouble down to yourself.” 

“Why?” 

“Her father is a criminal! And, I mean, look at the way she dresses! Don’t you find her creepy? It is highly likely that she is no better than her grisly father. Be careful, maybe she will kill you when she feels like it someday.” 

“How could you say something so mean like this?” 

I believe Sam’s perspective showed the opinion of most students in my class. For real, life is not valuable for them because it has nothing to do with them. The tragedy is not only about agony or pain, but also about the deprivation of sympathy and compassion. 

Though I tried to defend her, honestly, his words did stir up fear in my heart. I started to feel hesitated about whether I should help her or not. 

After class finished, I took several minutes to compile my notes, so I was the last one to get out of classroom. Walking in the empty hallway, I heard someone was crying broken-heartedly. The sound of weeping came from the restroom. Walking to the door quietly, I wanted to see what happened there to checked if anyone might need some help. 

“Just go! I am begging you. Don’t come back again. Just don’t. I’ve had enough! All because of you! You ruin our family, ruin my life. If I can’t be who I am, there is no difference from death. I can’t take anymore” There was a girl crying and shouting. 

When the situation was clear, I thought the crying was nothing more than a normal quarrel with her parents or boyfriend. However, just when I planned to leave, unexpectedly, Rose came out. She immediately ran away when she saw me. I was still standing there, with a short-circuit head. 

On that very night, I had that horrible dream. 

• creative writing
• short story