The Struggle Is Real

♤three : emptiness♤

♤three : emptiness♤

Everyone was crowding around me with balloons, presents, the whole nine yards, as my parents would often say. Everything reminded me of them, it was impossible to get them out of my mind. Aunt Jen assured me that I would have a building somewhere that one day, I would be able to call a home. Somewhere I would be able to grow up as a normal person. Even through we both knew my life would never be normal again. The thought of a home aroused my thoughts of necessities. I instantly worried about my clothes and phone and tablet and anything else I needed.

"There's nothing left, honey."

One lone tear slowly slid down my face as I recalled that night.

Emptiness filled my lungs, oxygen seemed absent from the room.

When those four words were spoken, it felt like someone had punctured my chest with a knife and just kept on twisting it and churning it in my heart.

This fire, this one night.

It had destroyed my life.

I couldn't hold on any longer. All I wanted was to be alone.

Everyone supporting each other, laughing, smiling, and hugging. A beautiful scene of elation. It made me sick. How could they be so thoughtless and selfish? Forgotten, I cried, in my scratchy hospital bed, thinking about how no one except myself thought (or cared) about how I was feeling about my dead parents. Truly, I didn't think anyone gave a crap about what I thought. The realization that set in hurt. Sadly enough, I was still alone.

I cried and cried and cried.

My tears ran down my face and they kept coming and coming until I had no more tears to release.

I was all alone. From hero to zero. Just like that.

Choked sobs echoed off of the empty dark halls, and this time, they were only just mine.

I couldn't fathom it.

I recalled many celebrities that have risen from the ashes. How could people have their families all die, and then go on to do great things?

It knocked me off my feet every time I thought about it.

I mean, my whole family is dead, and all I want to do is kill someone.

That actually sounds good right now.

Hmmm, knife, murder, prison.

No matter how wonderful being locked up in a tiny holding cell for the rest of my life would be, I would never be able to bring myself to do it. I was a caring person. No matter how much this accident changed me, I would always be the thoughtful, caring person who didn't kill. Funny enough, six hours ago, I would have never even imagined, ever even thought of killing the innocent fruit fly that hovered over the flowers....