The rain makes things worst as I sit and suffer at my own dismay. Should I have been home? Maybe I should not have left with a temper and anger in my icy blue eyes. Why must I feel this way? Could God not give me a break? Tears fall and hit the cold, already wet ground. Breathing is hard and speaking to my new family is worst.
If I say their names I feel as if I choke on words. I wanted to feel like an adult, it’s all I ever wanted. Being an adult means facing reality and I was not in reality. I wanted smoke in my lungs and liquid tearing into my liver. My head was up in the clouds, dark clouds. But I smiled that night, feeling as if nothing was wrong. I would enter my house like nothing ever happen. But something did something I feel I made.
Red, cold blood covered the floor I stood on. My scream filled the hallways yet no one heard me. I could hear my bones crunching and my blood boiling with fear. I was lost that day. The people I loved and some days I hated were gone. Whispers in the wind, and their shattered bodies were shadows in the night. I saw the first body of my father, his nose broken and body bruised. My father, I stood over him holding my breath and dying a little inside. I could not bear more of the sight of him and I trembled in fear to the kitchen. There laid my mother, knife in her back and her usually smile not on her face. I remember the last things she said to me, she wanted me to stay inside.
Not tonight sweetheart. I wished to hear those words once more. I squatted down next to my mother’s lifeless body. I pulled her body to me and wept. I felt my body crumbled, inside out. The disease of sorrow, invading my bloodstream as I hold her close to me. I can feel my heart beating and I pray I could hear my mother's one more time. I stalked through the rest of my home and passed by my room. It was neat and perfecting untouched. I should be in there, dead and lost to the world. I walked in and looked in the mirror and saw my crumpled face. My black makeup was smeared and running down my face. My hair smelt of cigarettes and alcohol. I would take it back if I could.
I spent one night away from my home when I should have been here. Here, in my bed, curled up with a book like I used to do. But God has punished me in another way. As I stared at myself, I realized how much I hate myself. I do not deserve to live. One night of living can replace the last thousand.