Word of Honor

Chapter Three: Recognition

My parent's car flashes and flickers before sight, according to my weak vision. I do not bother waking up utterly, and I close my eyelids yet again.

Well, before I knew it, I overheard some conversations, leaving me incoherent.

"–scheduled for a follow-up appointment just next week."

"Okay," someone is rummaging through a bag. "Thanks, bye."

"Next?"

A completely white rubber floor along with voices of hurriness and my two numb legs flickers in my sight. I blink a few more times and take a huge deep breath, acknowledging the medication smells. That helps me recognize where this is, a hospital. I still feel disoriented, I cannot sit stably and I could still see some darkness beside me.

I discovered that mom is the one who kept me in company this whole time when I turned to the side on my seat. Thank you Mom.

"Charmi Glift?" The doctor speaks. He has a pair of white outlined glasses, which he adjusted. The ghost white coat suits his tall figure perfectly. In addition, he has a clean, perfect haircut. This makes me wonder whether a formal doctor is restricted in haircuts.

"Doc, is everything okay?" Being the kind of person that has an optimistic perspective, Mom would use this phrase to replace "Is anything wrong?" even though her voice shudders.

Doctor sighs and says, "Everything is sorted, Mrs. Glift." He adds a slight smile and hands over a paper with my basic information with a letter attached.

"Alright, we'll just get going then. Come 'long sweetheart." Mom says.

I lift the letter from the attachments and try to peek inside. Mom, surprisingly, lets me. I smile and reads the subject: "For the daughter of the Lortrage—"

Mom snatches it from my hands and the sudden motion causes me to flinch. She squints her eyes as she observes the words on the envelope and quickly tucks it in her bag, concealing it carefully.

"You wouldn't be reading that," Mom excuses herself. "Now let's go."

"You never explain any of— whatever this is— to me!" I shout outraged. "What's all of this about?! Please, at least be honest with me!"

Despite my call-out to her, Mom pulls out the car key and strides to the driver's seat. However, after a while of looking at me with the corner of her eyes, she lifts up the trunk of the car and swiftly turns around, lowering her bag and shuts the lid close.

"Fine, I see how it is," I say, concluding her actions of keeping a secret. I pace around to the other side and sit in the back seat close to the window instead of the passenger one.

The encounter with the doctor makes me recall the terrible issue possessed by my grandfather. A heart disease that does not have any antidote.

I remember a quote from my grandparents: "Don't stay only here, or you'll never grasp anything. Go explore the world, the key to gain knowledge." It blocks most of my negative thoughts, and affects me remarkably. Take joining clubs as examples for this, I had always attempted to think of this quote anytime I felt overwhelmed.

"Charmi," my grandfather said. We were discussing about my future. "Me and your grandma won't be able to see ya grow up to be a powerful adult though, so we wish you to rely on yourself if you can in any circumstances, okay?"

Confused, I nodded and assisted him to his rocking chair. It would be almost impossible for me to do the task, with my food and shelter and money yet maintained by my parents, I cannot accompany them.

Just by thinking about me being powerless, incapacitated, fear overwhelmed in all eight ways towards me.

With loneliness, I jump onto my cold bed after the cold interaction with Mom, tuck my delicate blanket to my neck, and close my eyes.

The loss of my brother was forever uncured, comparable to mental trauma. Looking at my room's ceiling, lost in the lack of hope, I am accompanied by despair and anguish singing me to sleep. "Who in the world could kill someone like Charles? When the murderer takes out the gun and shoots Charles with the bullet in high-speed, he is not human anymore at that point." I reassure myself by cursing the murderer, it seems as if I cannot pause all the cursing.

I do not despise somebody this much in my life, not in advance of a murderer of my loved ones.

Everytime the word "brother" comes to mind, I let my head in my arms for an abridged period of rubbish.

I turn around, facing my nightstand with heavy eyes.

Mom has called me on the phone several times in a certain period, making sure about my safety, whether physical or mental. And Dad had checked on me every five seconds. I can tell Mom and Dad had become more careful of their doings, or scoldings towards me; a distressing punishment for me even so.

I decided not to find out. So obvious, what Charles's death had affected me, or my parents and relatives. Charles must be really disappointed in us not being healthy and happy, but what could we do without Charles, ever?

I find myself being aggressive on those folks who still have their older or younger siblings by their side. Even if I control my emotions, it does not prevent me from being jealous of others who did no harm to me. Them living such an ideal life is definitely not their fault. I know this will never be their fault of getting so much hate from me. On the other hand, this is not all my fault, since I had lost my brother in the nick of time.

"Why'd you become such a... horrible person, staring at us as though we're your enemies? You're not the Charmi I used to know!"

I know deep in my heart that I am a ghastly person. Turns out I had never hurt people who are friendly to me physically but mentally. I cannot control my glares towards people. I cannot help myself to quit pondering about negative thoughts, even though I have tried miserably billions of times with my grandparents' quote. I know I never will, and I am sure of it. Who could recover from a loved one's death in such a short period of severe point of moment after all?

I check on my parents periodically also. They are as miserable as I am, Charles is their only son, and his life is taken away in one surmised normal night. When he was being tortured to death, we were at home, eating dinner carefree.

All of us do not move on from the tragedy.

Heart wrenched when hearing sorrowful cries in the middle of the darkest nights, it is worse when discovering that it was my own parents who looked courageous and determined all the time. They must have lots of pressure on their backs, with Brother's death and my health conditions.

Could I say that I have the worst childhood? Not quite. Having a blessed childhood depends on the understanding of individual people about "happiness".

Before all the incidents, the sadness, the realization, I was an ecstatic child, who had the best childhood anyone could have ever had. The halcyon period of blissful and carefree will be stored in my memories day after day.

Lightning of recognition struck me at the age of thirteen, at least I was delighted before.

We all have to face the truth eventually, no matter on any subject or topic. But there is a difference of time when we realize. It is a human being, faster than their peers, to figure out about this world's cruelty, leading to that certain person raised to be more mature emotionally and collected, because they had seen everything the others do not.