The Day I Became No One

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just a short story about loss and going past the surface and seeing what someone is truly like.

Submitted: July 15, 2012

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Submitted: July 15, 2012



  A child, that's what comes to mind eveytime I think of him. Even now, years after he was taken from me my mind still drifts back down memory lane to where I find myself in his arms and the object of his precious love.

  Please don't misunderstand, when I say child I don't mean he was immature, no not by any means, he just had this way about him that reminded me of a loyal, kind child that loved you without a care of what you'd done in the past and what you planned to do in the future.

  He was so special, but not one person in his entire life took the time to see the potential and beauty he had inside of him. No one saw the soft child-like side he desperately wanted to show, no one saw the side of him that strived so hard to be strong and not let the world that had shunned him so callously see his tears. Everyone he knew, everyone he met, forced the child in him back behind a fascade of cruel determination and a sadistic cheshire smile that held no remorse and no promise of mercy.

  No one noticed who he was until he made the news, a ruthless killer, that's what everyone saw him as, a heartless, guiltless monster with no point or reason to his violence, except for me. I worked so hard to crack that mask of his, I sacrificed everything, including my heart and soul but I was far too late to save him. By the time i'd reached my goal he was ripped from my grasp, only to expirence what it was like to be saved for an instant.

  They killed him right before my eyes, his life blood leaving his body and painting my skin, as if to show me what true failure was. He died in my arms, his hand gripping my own as if to tell me it was ok, that he was happy but, I didn't want him to go and leave me behind. I wept tears that would never dry and mourned the loss of a child, a monster and a friend.

  No one mourns for the wicked, atleast that's what my grandmother told me time and time again when she would find me staring out at the world i'd come to see as a cold and lonely place but, if thats true then why do I still wake in the night and call out to him, knowing that no matter how much I cry and beg, my voice can't reach him anymore.

  I suppose I became no one the day he left me to tread this cold and lonely earth alone.

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