Fallen

Rule #1

Rule #1 Never long for death

The small wooden table, it stood with weak legs, desperately trying to carry the mass of cluttered paperwork my father had tossed onto it. My father was a man who considered himself a jack of all trade, master of none but often better than a master of one, we both knew he was just indecisive, but either way I loved my father. My senses turn weak from the welcoming aroma of my mother's homemade cooking, my mother loved cooking, she used to teach me... but I could never compare. I stumble down the hallway and make my way towards the study admiring the world around me; I often spent most of my afternoons sitting in the study, enriched by the mountains of books around me. I make my way through the narrow door way and stare at my brother, he was sitting behind the oak desk mattering absurd comments under his breath... another bittersweet daydream.

Much like the bible I've grown to loathe, this is my genesis, the beginning of my pain... it begun with humble memories of kindness... but that kindness was burned in the very same fire that begs to haunt me. Now all that remains in those ashes is sacred memories, ones I'm too weak to move on from. Each wall in the house paints a picture, every mark, stain and piece of furniture reminds me of the past. The house that lives in my head is an exact replica of the one I once lived in. It's funny how the human mind will replicate something perfectly, the thing you long the most will forever live within your mind, but sadly my dreams will never become a reality... I've lived long enough to know I won't wake up from this nightmare; no this is the reality I am faced with.

I make my way throughout the house, peeking into every open door. Yet I refuse touch a single thing, only admire what I see, for my touch may be what taints this haven. I fail to find closure though as I know I will wake up eventually, but even though I decide to wait in the study. I blame myself for their death... my weakness was the death of my younger brother, but as I stand vacantly in the room, he sits peacefully unaware of the sins I've committed in our time apart. Even if my senses can fool me, I know this is a dream. The scent of my mother's cooking and the sound of my brothers comments, they are mere illusions, they truly are dead. But those sensations are strong enough to make me second guess myself, as I can feel how cold the walls have become. Ironically they become unbearably cold in my mind, as if the walls were made from snow, but alas the last times my eyes saw these walls they were covered with toxic, pitch black scorch marks.

Even from down the hall I could still hear the soothing sound of tableware bashing against each other as my mother makes her way through the drawers, a distant memory... one I thought I had forgotten, has now transformed into a beautiful nightmare. My brother stared vacantly at his homework sheet, he had this habit of getting of task... well we all did... except for my mother, she was always focused, no matter how tedious the task was. He let out a groan before positioning himself; he laid flat on the table arms stretched slowly pushing bits of paper off the edges of the table. But as I stood in either room neither my mother nor my brother could ever tell I was there... for I no longer belong in their plane of existence.

I know most of my life is revolved around a fantasy... one before that dreaded fire, but I need them in my life now more than ever. My therapist Mr Harris, the one who just fed me synthetic happiness, or anti-depressants, turned out to be a sociopath who killed his patients... and I don't know why I'm upset that I'm not one of the frozen bodies lying stiff in his garden, have I truly given up? For the slim chance there truly is a god as vengeful as they say I must restrain from killing myself, as that would result in further damnation, and that would cause me to never see my family again... if heaven is real that is... but somehow I feel as if I'm too far gone. Instead I'm forced to wait patiently for my time to come, even if my path will never cross my families again.

Knowing someone like Mr Harris and the fact he became a therapist makes it harder to trust than before... I didn't know that was possible, I've always struggled to open up... so instead I'm stuck with my thoughts, with mere memories of my family. My fantasies are odd, not sex crazed like most other sixteen year-old males, or even about being rich, no mine instead are far more simpler, as they are merely just a desire to have one last dinner with my family... one before that damned fire. Strangely that's all I fantasize about... I don't care for relationships these days... I only care for the ones I have already lost, how pathetic. Whether my life revolves around fact or fiction, dream or reality I don't want to be awoken, I don't want my family to be taken away once more, for my dreams feel far more real than any reality I have experienced since the fire.

My father often said "a discovery is but a moment fleeting away, a memory we could not possibly grasp. We can never live in the past for the past had its time, it's now the present... all we can possibly do is move on." A discovery may be impulsive, and I know I can't deny the experience it gives me, but even if the change that follows is inevitable, I will fight against it... for as long as I can. Sometimes I wish I was strong enough to honour his words, to discover what in life will finally let me move on from my past, but I can't let these memories leave me, I can't lose my family again. Why is it that I always end up in these memories, these thoughts? In the end, so called times of happiness are the things that cause the most grief.

I subconsciously grip the sleeves of my shirt, gently rubbing the scars left from my inability to move on, my father would be so disappointed. Raised a Christian but as soon as they passed I renounced my faith in any god, disregarded their teachings, I refused to be controlled by the fear of if I did something wrong I'd be eternally punished... yet somehow I can't commit that one sin, the worst sin of all. Being taught that way still leaves me with some ideologies and the most religious question of all, is my family truly in a better place? Sadly my spite and forced atheism causes me to state that my family is silently rotting in the ground... well their corpses that is, but for the most part I'm desperate to believe I'll see them again one day... even if I am no longer Christian. But as I wait for my sweet demise, I'm stuck to suffer, alone. I guess it's for the best I was the one to be rewarded this fate, after all I wouldn't want my younger brother to live the way I do... especially the alcohol "abuse" but that's a whole other topic. In the end all I have to show for my life is the fact that I have failed my family... now when people hear the surname Hearthstrom they don't think of my hardworking parents, nor do they imagine my cheerful brother. No people envision me... the disgrace of the family.