little blue suitcase ; e. dolan

1 : twenty one questions

a diary exert from ethan grant dolan

✿   august 11th 2017   ✿

twenty one questions.

the basic game one plays with another, so a conversation is made less awkward. like that ridiculous excuse our generation has for not being able to peel our eyes away from our phones to socialise, rawly and emotionally. like we are too clueless to understand that a game of back and fourth questioning is not going to help us into understanding one another.

too bad i fell for it.

and i'm going to fall for it again.

because i know i won't be able to understand you. i won't be able to gain any more knowledge than i already owned before. but hey, maybe that's my excuse for not being there with you. or maybe that's your excuse.

i'm not really sure what it is i'm saying, i am simply allowing my hand to scribe word after word that approaches my mind.

there's a lot of words. the sentences are the hard part.

but, as i was saying, the game is a game that i am going to play. the game is simple, this game does not have many rules. i ask you a question, and you answer it. you ask me a question and i answer it.

but, since you are unable to conform to these standards, we're going to play it my way.

the only thing i have control of right now.

number one. where did you leave all of your letters from lola? she wants them back, and she can't find them.

where did you leave all of your lacrosse balls? dad wants to make a collection. sounds like another memorial service. except with your balls.

where did you put all of our hard drives? cam says she thinks you put a porno on one. i reckon she actually thinks that you left some sort of suicide note in them.

where did you leave all of your expensive ties that grandma gave you? mum wants to give them to me. but i don't want them. they were yours. so maybe i don't want to know where you hid them before you left.

why did you hide things? and how did you make it so we didn't notice? when did you do all of this preparation? mum says you just knew when you were ready to go. she's gotten into marijuana. dad doesn't know. i can tell when she's high. not from the smell or the slight redness in her eyes. but the way she speaks, she's calm, she seems to know what to say. i don't know where she got it. but i think she's right for now. without the drugs she's hysterical. who knows, maybe i'll find her stash and try some.

what do you see from up there? is it through the same eyes that you did down here? i know my eyes have changed, and i'm not even dead yet. do you think i should be? maybe be up there with you? we could play football and make videos and ride our bikes wherever we want. we could simply be together, like old times.

are you healthy up there? does all sickness, fatigue and fatality wash away up there? are you well? are you happy? do you like it better up there? everyone tells me you're in a better place now, but what is a better place when the two closest people have been ripped apart, only to see one another again when i finally drop dead?

am i suicidal? surely some angel up there can know. am i so surrounded by the idea of death that i have found myself obsessed with it. my mind is going crazy, gray. i'm angry. betrayed. scared.

what's my future going to be like? i can't imagine this world without you.

why the fuck am i writing all of this? i don't talk like this. i don't pour my feelings out to anyone. i'm cold, inside and out.

maybe i'm trying to come to terms with everything that's happening around me. that's what people tell me i should do.

but the only person that will read this, is you. i mean, i hope you do, that way i know you're really here. i wish you were still here.

you know what? -that's not apart of the questions in this game- fuck you. fuck you for getting cancer. fuck you for living out your last months vomiting and coughing and resting and not being able to be with me. fuck you for making me look after you. fuck you for making me watch you slowly wither away into an infamous chasm of nothingness. fuck you for leaving. fuck you for packing that stupid blue suitcase. what, you thought you were going to heaven by aeroplane? -also not apart of the questions- please. fuck you for leaving that stupid suitcase on that hospital bed to fall over when you decided that you were gonna leave me on this earth. fuck you for letting that suitcase fall. biting the dust just like you. fuck you for being so much like me that everything i do now is related to you. 'oh, you like football? grayson was so good at football.' 'oh, don't you look handsome in your snapback. grayson always looked so good in those snapbacks.' 'oh look how tall you're getting. you would be grayson's height by now.' fuck you for being my brother and the closest thing i ever got to love. fuck you for making me so happy, because now i desecrated. fuck you for filling me with such joy, because now i am empty. fuck you for making me feel whole, because now i am broken.

broken.

so my last question of this game, is why? why?

✿

kind of difficult to write, but yes, i am starting a new story. because i have an attention span of a fetus and get bored of writing books past CHAPTER THREE. they're still up and running, i just didn't want to lose this idea whilst it's still fresh in my mind.

oh and yes, i lied. two weeks ago i did say that i wasn't going to be writing for five weeks, yet i have updated two books now. i will be now on sticking to this, you won't be seeing me for another three weeks. i have exams this week, and then i am visiting the reason behind the international concepts of the australian land. the outback. no, that isn't our natural habitat, there are regions, not the whole flaming country.

ok goodnight.