SBI one-shot angst things????

THIS ONE IS ACTUALLY FINISHED

Her sons were her prized possessions. Once, when she was fourteen, she swore to never be a mother. She swore she would never marry, and she would under no circumstances become a mother. Now, she could never imagine a life without her boys. Tommy, her sun. The sunny boy who couldn't stay quiet for longer than five minutes, the sunny boy who could make friends with any person he met, his loud voice somehow one of the most comforting sounds she'd ever heard. Wilbur, her moon. He was a boy who could make anyone fall for him. He had brown eyes, but they told a story no words ever could. His voice was like a siren, his guitar playing one of the best she'd ever heard. Techno, her star. He was, she guessed by definition, an outcast. He could never be an outcast to her. He was a genius, he was strong, one of the strongest and smartest people she'd ever met. His memory was impressive, and his writing brilliant. Her husband, Phil, was the best man she'd ever met. She swore he was better than her father, which she denied for a long time. She'd never be able to tell Phil that she did truly believe he was the best man in the universe, nor would she be able to tell her sons that she thought so highly of them. What once was a sunny seven-year-old boy, never able to be quiet and always moving, always happy, always making friends, was now a sixteen-year-old teenager, only loud when his cries interrupted the silence of their dark, gloomy home. The only time he moved now was to get up to yell at his father, or cry into his older brother's shoulder. She couldn't remember the last time he'd made friends, his only two friends, a strange two, to say the least, he'd blown off or ignored every chance he'd got. She was convinced she'd never see the boy smile again, let alone be happy. What was once a creative fourteen-year-old teenager with circle-rimmed glasses and brown curls always in his face, a calm, loving boy who was playing music every chance he got and singing to anyone who asked, was now a twenty-three-year-old man who had smashed his guitar to pieces and hardly spoke, let alone sing. He'd broken his glasses, he refused to buy new ones. He was never calm anymore, he was mad. He was only kind to his little brother and his twin if he felt nice enough. What was once a genius fourteen-year-old teenager who you had to pry away from a book and force him to eat, a boy who was passionate, sarcastic, genius boy, was now a twenty-three-year-old who despised reading or writing. He was never passionate about anything anymore, he was monotone in every word he spoke, overly serious. Her husband? The man she was convinced was the best she'd ever met? Now she was convinced he was the worst in the world. He drank instead of realizing what their children were going through. He forgot that they mourned, too. He forgot that a sixteen-year-old still needed help from his father. He forgot that his son had been fired from every job he tried to get and was addicted to smoking and drugs. He forgot that his genius son, one with an IQ of 156 had quit college and refused to try to put his genius mind to work. She just wished she were still there. She wished after nine years that they would get over it. She knew that getting over it and mourning was hard, she really understood, but what the hell? Her sons have gone from teenagers to grown men, why hadn't they moved on yet? Why couldn't they accept it yet? Sometimes, she thought it would be better if they were all dead. She knew it was a disgusting thought. She knew she sounded psycho saying she wished her sixteen-year-old was dead instead of living. She felt unnecessary anger towards the wrong people. She wanted her sons to be dead. She wanted them dead. She wanted them dead until it actually happened. Her sun, her son, her Tommy. Her sunny little boy. That's who it started with. Her poor boy, her sunny boy, he killed himself. Her happy, abrasive, loud-mouth, hilarious, sunny boy, killed himself. Wilbur held him as he died. Wilbur found him, and Wilbur tried to save him. At his funeral, his older brother Wilbur sobs harder than he did at her funeral. He sobs over the ground and screams. The sky is dark and gloomy, it pours water on him and ruins his suit with mud, but he doesn't care. His twin and father try to pry him from the ground to take him home after hours of tears and screams, but they're met with louder screams and punches. They leave him there. He sleeps there. He doesn't leave, he stays for three days, lying on the grass ground. He refuses to get in the car when his twin begs him to come home. It continued, Wilbur was next. Wilbur killed himself next. At Tommy's grave, an older brother sits with a shard of glass, god knows where he found it, and stabs himself repeatedly. His twin brother finds him hours after it happened, sobbing into his brown hair which was wavy now, not curly. At his funeral, his twin looks like he's gone mad. He'd cut his hair to his upper arm, it was choppy and uneven, and he'd done it by impulse. His eyes had eyebags worse than she'd ever seen. He did not wear a suit to his funeral, he'd worn Wilbur's favorite yellow sweater and Wilbur's favorite black jeans. Kristen never knew what it was like to lose a twin, but looking at her now only-child son, she knew. It was worse than devastation, it was worse than any physical pain a person could experience. The next to go was Phil. He died in a drunk driving accident, serves him right, she thought, and at his funeral, more people came for Techno than they did Phil. Techno did not speak to anyone that spoke to him. He stayed after a while, he looked at the four gravestones that covered the same area of the graveyard. He sat cross-legged and stared at the photo of him and his twin on Wilbur's gravestone. He did go home, eventually, and he wrote for the first time since his mother's death. She couldn't remember exactly what he wrote down that night, she just remembered tears and pain. The last one to go was Techno. They say it was of natural causes, bullshit, everyone knew it wasn't natural. It was only a year after the last funeral, and Kristen was convinced he'd literally died of a broken heart. He died wearing Wilbur's clothes, he hadn't left Tommy's room once, and he'd been on the floor for at least a week or two. He died there, alone and sad. She got her wish. She wished for them to all die, and it happened. She wished she had wished for them to have grown successfully and to have gotten over her death instead.