ᎠᎬᏙᏆᏞ ᎢOᎳƝ .

【ＥＰ １】: ＲＥＡＤＹ ＦＯＲ ＩＴ?✩‧₊˚

✧༺♥༻∞

I wake up every morning to the suffocating weight of sorrow pressing against my chest. The world around me feels grey and lifeless, mirroring the bleakness that has consumed my soul. It has been three agonising months since I watched the news, my heart sinking as I saw the lifeless body of my beloved sister, Samantha, flash across the screen. The image of her fragile figure, her vibrant spirit forever stolen, is etched into my mind, haunting me day and night.

Depression has become my constant companion, wrapping its icy tendrils around me, stealing my energy and drowning me in a sea of emptiness. It's as if a dark cloud hovers above me, casting its shadow on every aspect of my life. The laughter that once echoed through our house has been replaced by an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional hushed whispers of my grief-stricken parents.

The world outside my bedroom window carries on, oblivious to the gaping hole that has been ripped open within our family. Friends have retreated, unable to comprehend the magnitude of my pain. They offer their sympathetic words, but their eyes betray their discomfort, their inability to truly understand the depths of my despair. I am trapped within my own personal nightmare, isolated and drowning in a sea of sorrow.

✧༺♥༻∞

The air felt heavy with unspoken grief, lingering like a ghostly presence in every corner of the house. As I descended the stairs, each step seemed to echo with a hollow sound, a reminder of the emptiness that had seeped into our lives. The house, once filled with warmth and laughter, now bore the marks of a tragedy. The walls whispered their secrets, carrying the weight of our collective pain. Photographs of happier times adorned the hallway, their frames collecting dust as memories faded. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a melancholic glow on the worn carpet below.

As I entered the kitchen, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. My mother stood by the stove, her gaze fixed on the sizzling pan, lost in her own thoughts. The weight of our shared loss hung heavily between us, an unspoken understanding that words alone could not bridge. With a deep breath, I mustered the courage to break the silence.

"Morning, Mom," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She turned to me, a flicker of sadness in her eyes, and offered a weak smile. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep okay?"

I nodded, though the truth was far from a restful slumber. Dreams haunted my nights, memories of Samantha and the horrors that had taken her away. But I knew my mother needed reassurance, a glimmer of hope that life could still carry on.

As she continued to prepare breakfast, I moved closer, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. The weight of the unspoken words hung heavy in the air, begging to be released.

"I think I'll just grab something on the way if that's ok with you." I said softly, playing with the sleeve of my shirt.

"Oh," She began as she set down the spatula aside and turned off the oven. "That's fine." She said with a faint forced smile; she was trying, I could see, but I just couldn't be in the same room as her. I loved her but it was just too much.

"Where's Dad?" I asked, he hadn't been home much, he's always either at the office or at the local bar.

"Probably at work honey, I'm sure he'll be home before dinner." She said setting her apron down over one of the chairs. I nodded and left the room.