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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Death is part of live. But what if death is just another from of living?

Submitted: September 20, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 20, 2016



I sit in the corner listening to my parents argue. They have been doing that for a while now and I know that soon they will loose each other this way. The thought of that sends a sharp pain through my chest and I have troubles breathing. I know my parents and I know they love each other and they will be wrecks without the other. Even more so than at the moment. But loosing someone does that to some people. Sometimes even love can't keep out the pain. They don't really notice me anymore since that day. That faithful day that changed all our lives. I remember the house before the accident. There was always music playing. Either my dad sat on the piano himself or he would be putting on his favorites bands. He was the music in the house and he had a talent of making you want to join in. I remember my feet involuntarily tap to the rhythm of the song and then ,because there was no other way, swirling me all over the living room. My dad hasn't touched the piano since that day and the house is always quiet now except when they fight. My mom used too cook the best cakes and hum in the kitchen like a bird in a tree. I could smell her creations from my room upstairs and it would make my mouth water in anticipation. Sometimes I'd even help her and she would eventually send me out of the kitchen because I had absolutely no talent in baking. There hasn't been a cake in a while now and the sweet smell is just a distant memory just like her humming. Their screaming now is the only real sound I hear theses days and I wish I wouldn't.

I never make a sound. I am too afraid to do so. I keep my words in and my rage but I know I am starting to loose control and it is like waiting for a tidal wave. You know it will come and sooner than you think. I have so many questions in my head. Questions no one can answer. Questions I never ask anyone. Why us ? Why now? How is any of this fair? I guess everybody who looses someone or something wants to know why. I look up when I hear a crash. My mom looks wild, her hair sticking up in all directions, my dads eyes matching her glaring ones. I see the broken porcelain plate next to my dad and I know my mom never intended on hitting him. And yet she threw it. Their faces fall. It is like the crash woke them up from a trance. My mothers hand is trembling violently and they both advert their eyes, not able to look at each other. The pain of loosing a child is written on their faces like ink on paper and I wish I could say something to help their pain but I don't want them to notice me right now. It would just remind them that they lost something and I don't want to worsen their suffering. For a second though, my mother glances in my direction and I fight the urge to run into her arms. But I know she would start crying then and so would I .Neither of us needs that. It wont give us anything back, I know that.

So I remain silent and my mother turns her attention back to my dad. He looks up as well and when their eyes meet my mother starts speaking so silently nearly missed it: “Caroline wouldn't have wanted this”. She doesn't look back when she leaves the kitchen and sits onto the sofa looking into her hands. My dad looks into the air in front of him and I sit in shock. My mom hasn't said that name in a long time and it left me sucking for air. It is like rubbing salt into an open wound. A wound that will never fully heal. I have seen enough and I can't deal with my dads lost expression anymore so I quickly go upstairs. Neither of them notice me.

The house is quiet again and everything feels out of place. Somehow wrong. Empty. Not even the steps make a sound whilst I make my way up. The hallway is cold and dark and almost out of habit I turn to the left at the top. I stop my hands inches in front of the golden door handle of the big white door. The big red letters spell one word. “Caroline”. Sadness washes through me. I used to think red a lovely color. Now it only reminds me of blood. I slowly back away from it, knowing I will find nothing in there. Instead I quickly make my way to the end of the hallway to another white door. But this time the green capital letters spell “Tom”. I wait for a moment in front of it, not sure what to do. It is late and he is already asleep since several hours. I don't like the thought of waking him up but I just feel the need to see him. I open the door without making any sound and close it behind me just as quietly. It is darker in here but I can still make out the small silhouette of my brother in his bed. Slowly I move closer and stand next to him. He looks so small and fragile even for a five year old. He turns in his sleep and I figure he must know that I am with him. A smile appears on my face. Even though he has lost so much as well, he is still innocent enough in his youth not to be weighted down by it. I don't think he even understands the concept of death yet and I am glad for it. And I am also jealous of him. He will forget most of this. My smile disappears because I know that I never will. I will never forget. I sit down at the edge of the bed. pushing his sweaty blond hair from his forehead. He was always hot and I longed to feel the heat. But there is no heat in the world that will make me feel warm again. I am always cold now. I lean even closer but he wriggles in his sleep and turns his face towards the wall and out of my sight. I repress the urge to sighed aloud and stand up again. Yes, I think to myself, he will forget but still our parents will never be the same. They are broken even if they try not to show him. Fear starts to cover my heart like a damp blanket. A child needs its parents. I promise myself to always let him know that I will never leave him. And even though mom and dad don't seem to notice me anymore they might hold it together for Tom. He is still so young. He still needs them and I will just have to do things on my own now. Anger rises in me again. I wish I could stop this somehow. Stop my family from falling apart but I just feel helpless. Helpless and furious and lonely.

My brother starts to turn restless again and it's like he can feel my emotions so I quickly leave the room. Once I am out I lean back against the door. I feel like screaming but I don't. I never do. The light from the kitchen downstairs drowns the hallway into a yellow light that makes the walls look sick and miserable. Just like me. I can't move. I am so lost and I don't know what to do next. After what feels like eternity I make my way downstairs again. As I do I try not to look at the framed family photos on the sickly wall but they are like magnets. And I am the nail. We looked so happy and I can almost hear the laughs in the back of my head. Everywhere there are smiles in our faces and sun in our eyes. Life seems to radiate out of it and it makes everything so much worse. Because we won't ever be happy like that again. There will always be something that's missing. Someone that won't be on another picture ever again. I get mad again and I can't help it. This is not fair. We have always been good and kind people. When the neighbors lost their dog we all went out and searched for it the whole night, even Tom on my mothers arm. And when Lucy from sixth grade broke her leg I went to visit her every day for two weeks with cake even though I wasn't even friends with her. What I am trying to say is that we don't deserve this pain. I am not sure anyone deserves this kind of loss. And all this pain because of one drunk driver. One wrong moment.

My eyes are wet again and I know that if I could look into a mirror right now, my eyes would be puffy and my cheeks would be red. What an irony considering people used to tell me I am pretty enough to be a model. They wouldn't say that now. Truth is I think I would have been pretty enough put I had another plan for my future. I wanted to be a lawyer. I know it sound dry and boring but I always thought bringing justice was important and something I could be good at. Even my grades were good enough to get myself a scholarship for a decent University. But since the accident I don't believe in a word like justice anymore. And I quit school anyways. There is no reason to want something when you know you will never get it anyway. The truth of my situation was like having a rock bound to my ankle and now I am drowning in the water. Alone. I retrace my steps and go back downstairs not sure what I even want there. My father has joined my mom on the sofa and they are holding each other like that it the only thing preventing them from falling to pieces. Their fight is obviously over but I know it wont have been the last one. They don't talk. Everything is quiet. Usually we would sit there all together and watch a movie or just randomly turn on the TV and see what was on. My parents would fight over the controller but with laughs on their faces. Nothing like their arguments now. But now the TV is of, their eyes staring in front of them as if there is an answer somewhere in the air. The silence was like a visible force pushing all our heads down. They haven't noticed me come down. My mother wasn't aware of much lately. I know she has been drinking for a while now and I might have been the only one who noticed how drunk she really had been on the funeral. Sometimes I think she tries to find her daughter at the bottle of a wineglass and sometimes she does. I found her whispering “Caroline” more than once when I came downstairs, empty bottles all around her and there was nothing I could do to ease her pain. Or mine. I think about hiding the bottles but that would make her angry and I know that doesn't make it better. Everybody handles grief differently. My dad works long hours now in a job I know he doesn't like. Just to escape reality at home. And I am always home worrying about them. Especially Tom. I am standing behind the sofa, out of their view and look down at my hands. They are pale and thin and I want to punch a wall with them. No! Even better. I want to punch the asshole that drove that car that night killing someone innocent. But I don't. I am waiting for the rage to calm down, but this time it won't. It gets worse. All the loss, all the pain all the grieve comes crushing over me in a tidal wave and I run and throw myself in front of my parents. My voice rises for the first time in so long. I scream their names so loud it hurts my throat. But they stare on into nothingness. I bring my fists down on the small table and scream even louder

“Mom, Dad look at me” my voice getting higher the more desperate I get, but they don't notice me “ Mom, Dad! Why wont you look at me?”. I feel like choking on my own voice and I sink to my knees, my tears streaming endlessly down my face and all the strength leaves my body.

My parents don't look at me. They never do. Because they lost me. Because three months ago a drunk driver hit me with his car. Because three months ago was the day I died.

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