Thorn

Mourning

After everyone hearing of Constance's death her friends had done a fundraiser for the family. They had raised about 2 million dollars over the span of nine months. Nobody could believe it. For 3 months Michael would be generous enough to let the kids get what they wanted, and helped to pay for Jane's college tuition.
Despite the money, the household was never the same. Michael started to work overtimr and Jane could barely stand being in the same house as Michael. The twins kept to themselves, always staying in their rooms.
Everyday after work Michael would come back home with a bouquet of roses in his hand. He would drive over to the tree where they had buried Constance and it wasn't long before roses started piling up against the trunk of the tree.
One day Michael went to her grave, but this time it was different. He sat down on the soft soil and kept his dark eyes on the ground, the feeling of guilt eating him up.
"I'm so sorry..." He said, his voice becoming shaky and tears streaming down his cheeks. "You were right....you always were." He said, wiping his cheeks. "...and I was always too stubborn to listen." It was silent for a few moments. Michael clenched his jaw and his blood started to boil, he was becoming furious as if he was waiting for a response. "What the hell did you want me to do?!?" He yelled. "I had no choice...I had no goddamn fucking choice and you know it!" He said pointing to the grave as if he was blaming someone. "You know better than anyone!" He screamed before holding his knees close to his choice. "It's still eating me from the inside and I know what to do to stop it, but I can't... I can't hurt the boys. They're all I have left of you. Left of us." Michael laid down upon the grave as if he was sleeping upon it. "You always knew what was right...but I never listened!" He yelled, hitting himself on the side of the face. "I don't know what to do!" He yelled before unexpectedly passing out. Michael woke up the next day, coughing. He looked around to get a sense of Hus surroundings, but the roses that were squished beneath him answered his question. He let out a sigh before rubbing his head and standing up. He brushed the dirt off of his clothes before blowing a kiss down to the rose covered grave. He got into his truck before driving up to the house. He walked into the house and turned his head a bit as he saw his reflection in the mirror. He looked at his pale face and dark eyes. He took a deep breath before shattering the mirror with his fists and walking further into the house. He found Kyle and Tate sleeping on the couch with Jane. He walked into the kitchen with a sigh and picked up a large chef's knife, one identical to the used to kill his eldest sister, Judith on October 31st, 1963. He stabbed his forearm deeply starting at the wrist, cutting through the hypodermis of the skin before pulling back just before the came upon the antecubital, the front of the elbow. He watched the blood pour out his skin like lava from a volcano. His blood was dark, close to a black color. He didn't feel any pain by the laceration. It didn't affect him whatsoever. He turned to the kids in the living room, knife in hand. He dropped the bloody knife and washed his arm before walking upstairs to his room. Michael laid face down on his bed as his arm stained the bed sheets, mourning.

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Author's note:Sorry, I know it's short. I wasn't really of what to really put down since it wasn't an original part of the story. I only put it in to make it seem longer.