I glanced around at the sea of black- the colours were traditional, the music loathsome and sombre, matching the faces of the guests. The whole town had shown up, despite the fact that very few of these people had ever given Edge a second look. Its funny how people start caring about you when your gone, seems like some kind of human instinct to wallow in the hurt of others. I had ignored the conatant barrage of sympathy from these fakers, ignored their pitiful glances full of feigned concern and 'heartfelt' sorrow. My mother on the other hand seemed to be enjoying the attention shedding a tear at appropriate times through the service, she didn't care she stopped caring about me and my brother when Dad left.
Edge,
I miss you bro you were supposed to be here forever, you should be here with me so we can laugh at mums theatrics and all the things these people say about you being a good kid, about how much of a 'damn shame' this all is.
I miss you, but I also envy you, you no longer have to put up with life, maybe if I wasn't so afraid of what comes after death I would end this suffering and join you. Remember when I was six and I asked you if God really existed and you looked up at the stars and said "There's something out there, Violet, all this beauty had to be created... it's no accident". Well I hope he does exist, you deserve better then an eternity of endless sleep.
Mum sent me to a counsellor today. Edge I want to talk about it I want to talk about everything, but i cant form my thoughts into words, so instead we sat, stared and talked, but mostly I cried.
Violet.
Its been four days andl I still expect him to burst into my room, trudging mud across my floor and hitting me with another one of his theories about the decay of humanity, it strikes me as odd ...the silence, the lack of tears the conversations in my head. I spent today walking down by lawsons River I picked up a rock and hid the letter I wrote to him under it, leaving it there with a prayer that maybe the water will wash it away to where ever his soul is now.
Tomorrow I start back at school I dread the vomit inducing sympathy I know will be showered on me by everyone. If it were up to me I would stay locked in my room, windows drawn, music on, mind to far gone to recover effectively, unfortunately my compassionate mother says we need to 'keep up appearances' so she's been going out shopping, socialising and keeping her 'brave and compossed facade on firmly.
