Luke sat in his usual seat at the back of the classroom, his fingers deftly shuffling a deck of cards. It was report day, which most of his classmates eagerly anticipated. Parents were bustling around the hallways, excited to hear about their children's progress and accomplishments. The classroom buzzed with chatter and laughter, but Luke remained in his world, isolated and indifferent.
He glanced around the room, watching his peers wait impatiently for their parents to arrive. Each student had a designated seat next to theirs for a parent or guardian. Luke's seat, however, stood alone. He had stopped hoping a long time ago. His parents had never shown up for his report days, and he knew today would be no different.
To pass the time, Luke focused on his sleight of hand, the familiar motions of the cards offering a comforting distraction. He performed simple tricks, making cards vanish and reappear, practising the fluid movements he had seen the street magician use. His hands moved almost automatically, the tricks ingrained in his muscle memory from countless hours of practice.
As the minutes turned into hours, the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows through the classroom windows. Luke watched as one by one, his classmates were called to meet with their teachers, parents in tow. The room gradually emptied, the once lively atmosphere now subdued and quiet.
Luke's teacher, Mrs. Jenkins, shot him an irritated glance as she called out the last few names. She knew his situation, and it annoyed her. His parents' perpetual absence meant she had to stay behind until the end of the school day, long after she could have gone home. Luke avoided her gaze, focusing on the cards in his hands. He didn't need her disdain; he just wanted to be left alone.
By the time the sun had reached its peak, the classroom was nearly empty. Luke continued to perform his tricks, the rhythmic shuffle and flick of the cards a steady beat in the silence. He imagined an audience watching him, applauding his skill and precision. It was a comforting fantasy, one that helped him ignore the reality of his solitude.
As the afternoon wore on, the final bell rang, signalling the end of the school day. The last of his classmates left with their parents, their laughter echoing down the hallway. Luke remained in his seat, the only one left behind.
Mrs. Jenkins, tapping her foot impatiently, finally snapped.
"You," she called out, refusing to use his name. "Come here."
Luke hesitated but slowly rose from his seat and walked to her desk, taking a seat as instructed. He could feel the weight of her disdain even before she spoke.
"You know, it's pathetic," she began, her voice laced with pure hatred. "Your parents, not bothering to show up. It's bad enough they're such useless excuses for adults, but they can't even attend one day to show some responsibility..."
Ms. Jenkins's words trailed off for a second, her hand clutching her temple.
"And you," she sneered back continuing, her eyes narrowing at him. "you're no better."
Luke swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he kept them hidden under the desk. He knew what was coming next.
"You failed your exams. Completely and utterly failed," she spat out. "Do you think that hiding in the bathroom during the exams would go unnoticed?"
Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
A flashback hit Luke hard. He remembered that day vividly. While his classmates were hunched over their exam papers, Luke had slipped into the old, broken bathroom that no one used. He locked himself inside and pulled out his deck of cards. The tricks and illusions were his escape, a refuge from the harsh reality that awaited him both at home and in school. He spent hours practising, perfecting his sleight of hand, losing track of time as he disappeared into his world of magic.
"You are nothing but a failure, a waste of space. Do you think your little magic tricks mean anything? They don't. You're trash, sick, and you always will be," Mrs. Jenkins' voice brought him back to the present with a jolt.
Her words cut deep, but Luke had learned to mask his pain. He kept his expression blank, his eyes downcast, absorbing the venom she spewed.
"Get out," she finally snapped, standing up from her desk. "I'm done wasting my time on you."
With that, she stormed out of the classroom, leaving Luke all alone in the silent, empty room. The harsh fluorescent lights cast a stark, lonely glow over the desks and chairs, highlighting the emptiness.
Luke sat there for a moment, her words echoing in his mind. He took a deep breath, then stood up, switched off all the lights and fans, and began to leave the school. As he walked down the dimly lit hallways, the familiar ache of loneliness pressed down on him. But he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the coin in his pocket and the deck of cards he carried.
The school felt eerily quiet now, the bustling energy of the morning completely gone. He walked through the halls, his footsteps echoing softly. The weight of the day pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he forced himself to keep moving.
As he stepped outside, the afternoon sun was still bright, casting a warm glow over the school grounds. Luke paused for a moment, taking in the scene. The emptiness around him felt almost comforting in its familiarity. He took a deep breath and began the walk home, the routine as ingrained in him as his card tricks.
The path home was a long one, but Luke walked it with practised ease. He thought about the street magician and the coin still tucked safely in his pocket. It was a small reminder that there was magic in the world, even if it felt out of reach. And maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in that world, too.
For now, though, he would keep practicing, and keep moving forward. Because even amid loneliness and neglect, there was a spark of hope that he couldn't quite extinguish. And that spark was enough to keep him going, one step at a time.
Luke's steps felt heavier than usual as he walked home from school. They had always been heavy, but today they were almost unbearable. A gnawing feeling, a hunch, told him not to go back home. He tried to ignore it, but the feeling persisted, making him stop in his tracks as he ascended the stairs of the small flat building to the first floor.
Clutching his head, Luke wondered if he was coming down with a fever or a headache, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Everything felt surreal. He pushed the strange emotions aside, forcing himself to continue his way home. He braced himself for the usual cacophony of his parents' arguments, the shouting and crashing that had become the soundtrack of his life.
Reaching the door, Luke noticed it was slightly ajar. Weird, he thought. It had never been left like this before. His parents were always paranoid about keeping the door locked. Not thinking much of it, Luke pulled it open wide.
The sight that met him was one no child should ever see.
Hanging above the floor was the body of his father, suspended by a rope tied around his neck. The man's face was ashen, his eyes closed, his body swaying slightly in the air. Below, sprawled on the floor, was his mother. A kitchen knife lay near her, its blade slick with blood. Her neck was slit open, a gaping wound that had bled out onto the floor, creating a gruesome puddle of dark red.
Luke's mind struggled to process the scene before him. His parents had committed a double suicide—or rather, his father had killed his mother and then hanged himself to escape the aftermath. The shock and horror of it all rooted Luke to the spot, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The world seemed to spin around him, the walls closing in as he tried to make sense of the nightmare unfolding in front of him.
He wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to release the overwhelming wave of emotion crashing over him, but he couldn't move. His body felt numb, his mind frozen in a state of disbelief and terror.
For what felt like an eternity, Luke stood there, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrific scene. The weight of his loneliness, neglect, and despair now seemed to have a physical manifestation, hanging and bleeding before him.
He slowly backed away from the door, his legs trembling, his heart pounding in his chest. He stumbled out into the hallway, gasping for air. The enormity of what he had just witnessed settled over him like a suffocating blanket, smothering any coherent thought.
With his last vestiges of strength, Luke managed to pull out his phone, his fingers fumbling to dial the emergency number. He didn't know what to say, or how to explain what he had seen, but he knew he needed to call for help. As he waited for someone to pick up, his vision blurred with tears he hadn't even realized he was shedding.
The finality of his parents' deaths hit him then, a devastating blow that left him feeling more alone than ever. The anger, the hatred, the violence—they had all culminated in this tragic end. And now, Luke was truly on his own.
The operator's voice finally came through the line, but Luke could barely find the words to speak. He stammered out his address and what had happened, his voice barely above a whisper. The phone slipped from his hand as he collapsed to the floor, the weight of the day's events crashing down on him.
At that moment, surrounded by the emptiness of the hallway and the echoes of his grief, Luke knew that nothing would ever be the same again. The spark of hope he had clung to now seemed like a distant memory, flickering weakly in the darkness that threatened to consume him entirely.