Ben's POV
I can't sympathize with S. P. Whitman. I don't know why. I just can't. I opened the purple letter and laid on the ground reading it. The letter read,
Oh babe,
Dear babe.
You have issues,
Too many issues.
You are opaque,
Too opaque.
You have fake love,
Too much fake love.
You are manipulative,
Too manipulative.
Your looks are deceiving,
Your backstory grieving.
Oh. I cannot help you anymore.
I wrote you letters.
I wrote you.
I cared about you.
I cared a lot.
I cared.
You got mad at me then we broke up.
You asked for me back;
I let you have me without paying.
You should know I see right through you,
You're transparent now.
You said I was your life,
But look at you living it without me.
You told me to never stop loving you,
But here I am...
Not Loving You.
That poem hit me hard. I felt pain in my chest. Is that heartbreak I feel? I realized I want S. P. back. I was a fool to treat her like she was an object. Women aren't objects to be thrown around. Women are not doormats to wipe your shoes off at or stomp all over. Women are pearls of high value and deserve happiness. Where are you S. P. Whitman? I still love you and I'm sorry.
I saw a guard coming my way. His hat embroidered with silver lining. He held a rifle in his hands. "Get up." His voice was deep. Out of fear of being shot I do as I'm told and scramble onto my feet. "What is your name?" His voice was deep.
"My name is Ben. Am I in London?" I squinted at the beautiful large castle.
"Yes. . . Ben?"
"Yes?"
"Come with me." I followed him to the big castle.
We walked through big extravagant doors. Everyone one was rushing around and running like a chicken with no head. I guess they were still searching for the Queen's long lost son. The guard and I walked forever just to get to a place that looked like Doctor's office. Two people ran up to me. They pushed me into a room. One wiped my finger with what looked like a hand sanitizer wipe and then spoke with her high pitched voice , "What's your name?"
"Ben."
"I don't think I've ever seen you at the Castle before. How old are you?"
"Nope. I am 14 years old."
She pricked my finger. Ok. Ow. That hurt.
She took a sample of my blood and handed it to the other lady. The other lady ran away with it. She did a normal check up as if I was normally at the doctor's office.
I didn't even realize there was a scrape on my fore arm from when S. P. ripped me out from the car. For a small girl S. P. is pretty strong, maybe she has powers. Haha I hope not. She patched up my wound and the other lady came back with the results.
"Ben, you said you were 14?" I nodded. "You're actually 16, Ben." The nurse that patched me up told me.
If I'm 16, that means I kissed a 14 year old and I don't have my permit to drive. I could have had my license by now. That also means I'm short for a 16 year old. My life just got so messed up.
The nurse read a paper and gasped.
"Get him to Queen Maya!"
The guard escorted me to the Queen. She looked so poised standing there in her blue dress. *She descended down the stairs. The Queen is breathtakingly beautiful. Everyone bowed as did I. She lifted up my chin.
She smiled and spoke to me, "Hello, my son."
THE END . . .
Or is it?
YOU ARE READING
The Leftovers
Teen FictionI had become a leftover. I am nothing more than a plate of food he forgets about, And soon he will dispose of me. He comes to me when he is hungry for love, I feed him hoping he'll stay, But he leaves. Because that's all I am to him, Just a leftover.
