Rejection

Too Alike

  Existence is a very subjective thing. Some think that existing and dying is the worst. Others feel that living and not existing is the most painful. What do you think? 

  Richard’s brother passed away when he was eighteen. Oliver was driving home from a late night party when he missed a red light and crashed into six other vehicles. Of course, he didn’t survive. In Richard’s opinion, it wasn’t the news of his brother’s death that drove his Mother to insanity. It was the fact that they had to drive up to the hospital to see for themselves how mangled Oliver became. In short, the sight of Oliver impaled with shards of glass and missing limbs was what made his Mother crazy. It was what made Richard hate himself so much.

  Growing up, the two brothers had been close in everything they did: they both loved soccer, they both loved the piano, and they both loved each other very much. Despite being two years apart, they looked nearly alike, with those crystal blue eyes and its alluring sapphire depths, and coal-black hair that would never flatten. Richard hated it.

  Before Oliver passed away, it used to be a good thing. You see, the two brothers never did lack friends in high school. They had the looks, the attitude, and you could say that they were popular. But after Oliver died, every time he looked at the mirror, Richard could only see his brother. No one knew how he felt. No one knew how he hated himself; his own reflection. Once, he woke up alone at night, and the moonlight caught his reflection at the mirror opposite. He had lunged across the room to break the mirror. It didn’t matter if he had loads of friends that cared for him. All Richard wanted was the love from one person, and that person was his Mother.

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   “I can see shadows of him. Oh, his bright eyes are always there. Always,” She whimpered. “So many spirits, trying to drag me to hell. So many.”

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  His Mother used to be bright and happy. She had their black hair and sapphire eyes, and she could literally light up the room with her presence. She would float into the room with that ethereal smile of hers, and every night, before he slept, she would always come into his room to talk to him. Of course, that was before Oliver died. No amount of help or therapy could get his Mother back. She became crazy, always whispering about ghosts and spirits, and Richard knew deep down that her own reflection was what killed her, like how it was killing him. What hurt him was that she couldn’t even look at Richard. She hated him, because he reminded her of Oliver. Sometimes, Richard wished that he could disfigure himself. If he did, maybe his Mother wouldn’t run away from him, screaming at him to go away. Maybe if he looked different, he wouldn’t be rejected by his very own Mother. He would trade everything in the world; his friends, his looks, his popularity, to be accepted by the one person he loved so much.

  Of course, that wouldn’t happen.

  Nevertheless, he would try to talk to her every morning. When the sun rose, he would walk into her room where she slept. His Father no longer slept with his Mother. She was too volatile, and too unstable. She was dangerous, but they never could bear to send her to the hospital.

  “Mother?” He would whisper.

  His Mother would open her eyes, and for three seconds, she would look so peaceful and quiet that he would hope so badly that she was back to normal. But then, the recognition would send her back screaming; screaming at him to go away.

  Richard missed her so much.

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