Sad

The sunshine casts a benevolent light over the embellished room. The sizzling sound of the bacon triggers Roxy’s consciousness so much as if pulling a string for the slick movement of her morning routine. She relishes the wonderful breakfast while watching a film. Tranquility and peace dissolve into the aromatic butter and the electric sound of the television. She then moves on to finish works and assignments. The brilliance spreads accordingly to the movement of the ferrule. Every component of the painting is so delicately controlled that she hums to the music of the color instinctively.

“That’s utterly inapropriate to avoid the responsibility of doing the sections that are previously discussed and assigned. I must file a report.” Roxy’s voice is lost in the crowded cafe slowly when the voices of cutlery and speaking drown it fully. She puts a slice of chocolate cake into her mouth, savoring the sweetness for the burning anger she mentions to her friends. “That’s an issue. Sometimes working a group project is similar to a lottery. Gaining an adequate member means a lot. Like… a lot.” She tries to discuss more about the issue when catching a glimpse of someone. “A friend of yours? Roxy?” They spot the sudden stop of the motion of conversation before asking the question. Pupils diluted interest and curiosity. That’s a youngster whose shirt is stained in pigments; the already curly short hair is twisted into a manifestation of pure tiredness. “He looks as if will faint imminently.” They comment.

Roxy arrived in the classroom when the first ray of sunshine got through it silently. Her short hair that vaguely shines the color of pastel pink moves vibrantly under the lively motion. Surprisingly, someone had already resided in this place. “Hello? That’s industrious of you to be present and on time for the upcoming painting course!” The individual who heard the voice turned slowly, irritated. Her eyes were circled in blackness while the body was engulfed in stains of color. She didn’t reply or even utter a sentence but simply continued to paint. “Could I take a look of it?” Roxy thus stepped forward to get a view of the painting. The smug smile forever remained when the masterpiece has gotten into her for the first time.

The blasting music covers the messiness of this place where ingredients of dough and various kind of vegetables are disorderly placed onto everywhere of this kitchen. While the voice of television in the living room strives to cover the worry of these two. They turn to see that even turmoil fails to describe the circumstances. “It’s alright, I’m sure our darling is alright to make a dinner for us-” The shattering sound of glass disturbs the conversation suddenly. “Please go check on her.” She sighs and walks towards where chaos resides. “Darling? You sure you’re okay in here?” Roxy replies vigirously, the place filled with remnants of ingredients reminds of her vibrant and colorful inherence. “Of course, mom. I’m confident that this is going to be a fantastic one!”

“How’s school, darling?” Mrs. Harper asks while the cutlery hesitantly moves on the protein that’s undoubtedly uncooked. “It’s okay?” Mrs. Harper’s movement suddenly stopped when the rosy juice is slowly oozing out. “I met Victor, a sibling of Olivia. He’s a student in Blackwood University as well.” They smack their sips awkwardly when listening to the sentence for they had already realized the messiness of this matter. “Roxy, I love Olivia too. She is one of the most talented and magnificient painters in the world. Also, I do understand that she’s your best friend. Nevertheless, be it painful or not, she’s dead. I’d say it’s okay to be sad or even resentful. However, speaking to her next of kin for an ulterior motive is not recommended though.” “What?” Roxy’s horrified, becomes so agressive and irritated. “I do not understand what you’re saying, mom.” “Yes, you do.”

Roxy’s mind dives into the depth of her sentiment while the movement of those drumsticks already forgot to return to tranquility. The sound becomes ear-piercing. The rhythm slowly dissolves into turmoil, forfeiting its original harmonious score.

“Despite of your intention, it is undoubtedly that you have already raided into the life of that little child.” Roxy’s pupils dilute, the grip on the knife becomes so much more intense and ugly. “No! It’s simply…”

The music has already altered into a clamor. The punching on the drum set is not even a medium of art expression but simply a primitive vomit of sentiment. Yet, She still contiunes the rapid movement.

“Please, it’s okay to express the sadness accurately through words and different methods. I’m sorry if this is too harsh. However, it is bad of you to try to control that kid.”

Surprisingly, the audience becomes more intrigued in the outburst of the concert. They yelp and howl for the chaos enthusiastically. While the musicians in the band all stunned to even continue, Roxy is entirely lost in the agressive and resentful impulse. She decimate the song, its rhythm, and even its meaning. She is powerlessly controlled by this sentiment that she has witnessed in the past.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She let go of the cultery while the transparent crystals endlessly drop. The tightly sealed sentiment begins to be released in the end. She cries, droplets of sadness blocks the vision until she couldn’t even tell how it ends. “I’m sad. I’m sad that Olivia’s dead. If only I could tell those omens before the suicide, this calamity could be fixed.” Roxy’s voice slowly lost in the embrace of Mrs. Harper while the melting ache alleviates.

She drops the sticks suddenly as if a puppet which lost its strings. Inhaling not simply the bewildered sentiments of the audience, but also the air of true tranquilty. When all the musicians come to check on Roxy, she smiles and ends the mess within no time through a sincere apology.

“I’m sorry that I get into your life with an ulterior motive in mind. I’m truly sorry. Nevertheless, it’s crucial that you express and speak your melancholy accurately. Also, I do realize what’s the meaning of the sentence “She’ll still kill herself.” I experience that primitive sentiment firsthand recently. I do understand how descrutive that matter is. You’re truly wonderful to withstand this desire of self-destruction silently for almost an eternity. We live in a different world where you must combat it alone and that you incessantly fight to simply make it stop for a while whereas I receive so much assistance and help that no matter how deep I go into the abyss, there’s always a way to climb back to the surface. Anyway, I’m simply saying that you’re an interesting and powerful individual. I’m sorry, and I would still love to be your friend.”