I have a sister. Her name is Hope. She's a weird kid, but I still love her. Who am I? Well my parents named me Alex. I don't like my name though. I don't think it suits me. Anyways, back to my sister. She was an odd child. Not in the fact of being a creepy kid in horror movies, but more like a mysterious kind of odd. She was very quiet for a kid and loved to draw and listen to music. Our dad played flute when he was in high school, but plays guitar now and she always listened to him play. My mother doesn't play anything, but she sings. By the time Hope was five, I was in middle school. Big shocker, I got really into band. But I played percussion unlike the rest of my family. Not the drum part as much though. I enjoyed all of the keyboard stuff. I think it's because of my sister though. When I was hammering on my drum set, she didn't come and listen. Just sat in her room. When I play piano though, she comes running. For a while in my life, I was kinda depressed. The only thing that pulled me out of it was Hope constantly being around me and cheering me up. Even though she begged me to play music for her, but I didn't mind. For a while she was the little light keeping me alive. Then, everything started going downhill. I was in high school, and the bullying didn't seem to stop. I got beat up at least once a week. My mom helped me a bit, but my dad was ashamed that I didn't fight back. When my depression started affecting my grades, my mom got angry though. She would yell and scream at me. My father did the same. Hope stopped coming to my room as often and sat in her own room quietly. Half the time she wasn't even there. So at one point I started cutting. When I did, my dad found out and put me on some anti-depressant shit. It barely works and with our low income, we can barely buy any. My birthday came around, and my dad stole my money so he could buy pills for me and of course, cigarettes. The bullying became worse by the day. The only thing that stayed the same was my love for music. Then one day when I decided against killing myself, Hope walked into my room. She smiled at me happily and asked me to play for her. So I did. Everyday. As she kept coming to my room, I felt like I was lifted out of my depression. I mentioned my sister to my parents one day, and they were confused. They told me I didn't have a sister. I insisted that Hope was real. They would have had a girl, but mom had a miscarriage. So who is she then? I rushed to my room and saw her sitting at my electric keyboard. She was trying to play a song I had taught her. I dragged my parents to her room, but they said they didn't see anything. I kept insisting and insisting, I ended up screaming at them that she was real and alive. Eventually, my dad slapped me and told me to go to bed. I ended up crying myself to sleep. The next morning, I decided I would investigate Hope's room. She was gone. The walls weren't their normal pink, but bland brown. Her cute soft bed was replaced with a metal frame with a torn up mattress. I walked over to where her wall of drawings was. Every drawing was still there. All exactly the same. Every one of them signed Hope. Why? Why is everything gone? Why are the drawings left? Is Hope really just my imagination? I finally realize though, she was my Hope. The light of my life, the thing keeping me alive, the one that gave me Hope. And when I stopped believing, she would hide and disappear. She may be imaginary to everyone else, but she is far from it in my eyes.
A/N
Hey guys, I'm back. For now. I just kinda found this as a draft and decided to finish it up for you guys. I hope you all understand me taking a break. I'm not officially back though. I might upload sometimes, but I won't be going back to my normal schedule. Hell, I barely kept that schedule. Either way, don't worry about me. I'll be back soon. Peace.
