Freedom Numbered.

Life Isn't Fair.

Sitting on the roof while my mom fights with my dad, listening in on what they have to say to each other may be tragic to an outsider, may be sad and pitiful. To me, it's a learning experience, learning what not to do. That isn't what I want to do, I don't want to find someone and get married, thinking that it would be what I want and push that someone away to the point where we show no love for each other anymore. That's what happened to my quarreling parents.

I remember when they were so in love that you couldn't tell that they had never fought, had ever said a distasteful word to each other or sent one another out of the bedroom for a night while the other would drink Everclear, 190 proof until they passed out on the love-seat. They were together for 19 years, my 17th birthday would be their 20th anniversary. My older brother was 19 and in College, he didn't know they were fighting again, otherwise he would've taken me to his dorm room, going against the rules, and I'd stay over night; but tonight, I was alone in this. It was cold and I was shivering, I heard the door bang open and shouting, glass breaking and things being thrown at the wall. Two loud shots rang out, bang, bang. My heart stopped as my breath stuttered in my lungs.

What the hell?

I quickly shambled off of the roof and onto the balcony, sprinting down the stairs three at a time, and tumbled onto the floor as a stranger ravaged the house of its knives, electronics, and its expensive China. I got up quietly and crawled over to the opposite side of the room, my breathing stayed shallow. I knew where the 1911 was and the 357, but they were under the bar on the other side of the room. I stood up and grabbed my bother's steel bat, the one where he won little league the fifth time in a row, and cautiously walked across the room to the kitchen, sounds of a bustling robber still sounded aloud, alerting me that he was busy and didn't know I was here. I peeked around the corner and the man stealing our silverware was oblivious of my presence so I moved in and swung the metal bat, hitting the robber in the back of his ugly head, he fell to the ground and I ran to the phone, dialing the police.

I explained what happened but had forgotten one detail, where were mom and dad? I checked the kitchen and living room, screaming for them , until I walked into the family room. I saw them, laying on the now blood stained floor and dropped to my knees. The two shots that still echoed in my head had hit them in the heart. I felt my own break, a hole of its own shot straight through the middle, the pain unbearable as my tears streamed down my face, my scream piercing through my silent tears. I was angry at myself and that bastard that took my parents away from me.

The sirens got closer and closer, my screams didn't stop until my voice went hoarse and I couldn't scream anymore. All I could remember was being taken away from my dead parents, sobbing as they left my sight and I was escorted into the passenger seat of a police cruiser. The paperwork was done and nothing was packed, I didn't want to go back to the house, instead, I was sent my phone, charger, and a bag of needed essentials. My aunt was called and told of the time of my arrival; tomorrow morning at 7AM. I cried throughout the plain ride and my arrival was welcomed with 3 hours of waiting for my auntie to show up.

I wanted to go home. I want my mom and dad, I want this to be a dream, I want this to all go away, I want them back...but I know that it's not a dream and that it never will be. I know this is my reality, my hell...I need help, I need an outlet, a gateway.

I want my brother, my Jordy.

I want my parents back you bastard.