The first thing I knew I needed to look for: clues. If my parents always told me that life was a beautiful gift from God, then why would they commit suicide? There had to be a reason. Anything. So I started of looking in corners. That's where I normally saw Mum hide things. Whereas Dad, well...I never really saw him hide anything. Not in my lifetime anyway.
Nothing. There was nothing to be found except for a dead rat, a scrunched up shopping list and 3 buttons. After I searched and searched every inch of the basement, still nothing. My mind went blank. Maybe I was going mad, who knows what was happening to me? My parents had just committed suicide. It took quite a while to sink in. I had nobody left to take care of me in my life. No one.
I went up to the kitchen and drunk some cool, ice water to cool myself down. The blood of my own parents was still on my clothes. I looked like a demented zombie. I couldn't bear to go into the living room. My parent's bodies were in there. Just thinking about them made me sick. I don't know why. It was true, I loved them to bits. But now, everytime I thought of their death, I started sweating and shaking. It was like I was turning insane. But I knew I wasn't. Not in a million years.
I started feeling quite drowsy and changed into some comfier (and less blood related) clothes. Before I knew it, I fell asleep and took a few hours of calm and relaxing sleep. Nothing could happen while I was asleep, could it?
