User blog:Steelwingred/A Really Depressing Story About a Tennis Ball

''Wow, Steel is really good at making title names. Someone should give him a medal. Anywhoo... Here is a story. I'm not sure if I'd put it as a pasta, but if someone likes it enough, maybe I'll put it up as one. Now, Queue the story!''

---

''Plunk. Plunk. Plunk.''

That's the sound Bill was used to hearing everyday walking in the hallways with his favorite tennis ball. The feel and texture complemented his grip with a tennis ball like no other. On top of that, the sound of the ball hitting the floor was somewhat... soothing, hypnotic, perhaps. Up and down it goes, along the hallways of his school, going toward home.

Home was... Not his favorite place to be, to put it bluntly. The place was old and dingy, with the occasional cockroach coming up from the creeky floorboards. It just put him off, and on top of that his parents hated him. It's not even because of something simple, like constantly failing school, in truth, Bill was, for the most part, the top of his class. No, his parents just straight up reject him as a son, saying all he ever was... was a mistake. He tries to keep his mind off of it, but who could ever truly forget?

So, most of Bill's afternoons were filled with sneaking out to a nearby Pizza parlor, Ronnie's Pizza. The whole place was so welcoming to him, the waiters and Ronnie himself were all nice and respectful to him. Sometimes, he wonders if this is what it's like, to have loving parents...

"Bill Furgeson! What are you doing here!?" A familiar voice spoke to him, ''Mom... ''

"M-mom...I...", Bill stuttered.

"That's it! We're going home!" His mom was in no mood for excuses.

The parlor had an eerie silence as Bill was forcefully dragged out the door, couldn't blame them. They haven't done anything at all. If anything, they've been better parents to Bill than his actual ones. They've been homely and helpful, like this one time he asked Ronnie for some help on his homework, which he politely did.

"What do you think you were doing back there?", his father asked.

"I-I was just going out...", he replied back.

"Going out? We could've lost you!" His father was angered, more so than usual.

"Like you care...", Bill muttered.

"What did you just say? I'll kill you myself, you ungrateful little twerp!" Those words, they punctured Bill like a bullet. He heard no sarcastic undertones,'' He would really do that... ''

 After the painful ride back home, Bill went upstairs to his bedroom, remorsing over his father's cruel words. He went through his backpack to take out his tennis ball. The tennis ball always helped in these kinds of situations, whenever he felt down, tossing it made him at ease, at least, for a while. His father's sentiment bothered him, still. Yet, Bill brought himself to an uneasy slumber.

The next morning, Bill went to school as usual, tennis ball in hand. As the ball's sound reverberated throughout the hallway, he made a bee line to the fountain, as he was parched. Once finished refreshing himself, Bill went to class. Nothing much happened then, it was only when he finished the last class of the day.

As he often would, Bill reahed into his backpack to get his tennis ball. But when he put his hand in the pocket, there was no ball. Unnerved, he desperately tried recalling where he last had it, but only remembered having it out this morning. He really hated to leave, but there was little he could do, he had nowhere to start looking. By now, some kid's already home messing with it.

Once Bill was home, he saw some thing he'd never seen before. His mom was in the dining room, crying. At first, Bill didn't care at all. What kind of caring had they ever shown him? That's right, none. But yet, some part of him knew that was wrong.

"H-hey, mom. Why you crying?" Bill asked.

"*sniff*What? Why do you care?" His mom replied.

"I want to know. Why are you crying?" He said.

"I-it's your grandather...", she began.

"What about him?" He asked.

"H-he's... He's dead, son. He's dead." She weeped.

"I..." Bill was unsure on what to say.

"I'm so sorry, Bill..." She said. ''Sorry? ''For the first time, Bill saw her mother feel... remorse for him? Whatever it was, it was genuine, that's for sure. Bill hugged his mother, hugged her really tightly.

Afterwards, Bill crept up to his room again to think... Where could it be? That tennis ball meant everything to him. Losing it meant... Well, he's not sure what it meant. He just knows he has to find it...

The very next morning, Bill went to school, in the mission of retrieving his beloved tennis ball. Honestly, it had seemed hopeless, until...

''Plunk. Plunk. Plunk.''

That sound, it has to be..., Bill thought as he galloped to the sound.

''Plunk. Plunk. Pllllluuuuunnn...''

Strangely, the last one sounded off. Like it was... Deflated! He ran to the pitiful sight, it was his tennis ball, for sure. Bill picked up the torn up remains, ''Who would do this? That's w''hen he saw another kid, smirking at him. Bill ran home, crying, he didn't know why, but he knew that's only place he wanted to be.

"Hey, Bill, what's wrong?" His father asked as he got in the house. I showed him my tennis ball.

"Oh..." He said.

Nothing that week could cheer Bill up. His dad tried by getting him a new one, but all he said was, "It doesn't feel the same..". His mom tried cheering him up, but words couldn't shake him. Then, at dinner...

"Bill, how are you, sport?" His father asked.

"I-I'm fine.*sniff*" Bill replied.

"You've been acting very sad lately, dear. What's the matter?" His mother chimed in.

"It's nothing mom." He abruptly said.

"Are you su-", she continued.

"I. AM. FINE." Bill said, holding in his anger.

"We're only trying to help, son. So, please, if anything is bothering you, let us know." Her mother said.

"You don't care... You care about anything at all about me!" Bill lashed out.

"Hey! Yes we do! We love you very much." His father retorted.

"Name one time you cared about me." He proposed.

"Well, of course I can name one. Remem... No... But there was tha... No that wasn't it..." His father said, trying to remember.

"See? You don't care..." Bill said.

"B-but t-that doesn't mean we can change!" His mother said.

"Change? You mean like Grandfather?" Bill replied.

"W-what? I never meant..." She said, her arguement crumpling.

"Face it. Everything dies." He finalizes, as the room comes to die in silence.

Nothing much happened the next day, he still holds firm in what he'd said last night, though. Everything Dies. It was all when his mother said, "We're going to a parenting seminar tomorrow. And by we, I mean ALL of us.". He honestly wasn't too happy about going to the seminar, it'll just be a waste of time to him.

"So, Mr. and Mrs. Furgeson, how long have you had your child?"

"13 years,", his father replied.

"And when has it come to your concern of your son behaviour?"

"Well, it was a couple of days ago. He was mad about something, blah, blah, blah," his mother answered.

"Would you like to go into detail, ma'am?"

"Well, the gist of it was that he doesn't think we care about him, which we do!" His mother said.

"And what do you think might've triggered this behaviour?"

"I'll tell you why, they DON'T care. At all," Bill spoke up.

"Hush now, dear," his mother whispered to him.

"No. No, I am not going to hush up, mother. If I can even call you that," he lashed.

"W-why I am your mother! Don't ever say that!" His mother said, flabbergasted.

"Well if you are, then am I your son? Or am I a mistake?" He asked.

"Of course your my son! I'd never call you a mistake!" she disproved.

"That's all you ever called me! Just a mistake! A worthless piece of garbage, that you threw away." Bill wrapped up.

"... I never knew you felt that way...", his mother said, suspended in disbelief.

"You know why? Because you never cared about me," he said.

"Y-you're right...", she said, tearing up.

"Mom... I didn't mean...", Bill sympathised.

"No, it's fine... You were right, all along...", she said.

"No, Mom, you were right. People can change," he said.

"So you want to be a family again? A real family?" His mother asked.

"Yes."

In the end, Bill was right, Everything does die. But from every story's end, comes another story's beginning. Bill grabbed the old tennis ball and headed outside. He dug up a shallow grave for it with it's own little tombstone, that's really a miniature picket fence saying:

"The Past"

Steel, Donut Question It  04:57, August 1, 2014 (UTC)