Occisor

1

    Life is full of inequities. No one in the world is the same. Someone out there could have a similar  story as yours, they could be happy, while you could be depressed, suicidal. People would kill to obtain someone else's life, their own little fantasy, to tear them away from their own retched one. Others would get rid of theirs even if it's a happy one, even if they have everything. Those privileged asses, People whisper. But i beg to differ. You don't know what's going inside their head, the endless torment, the constant battle of getting out of bed, because they simple don't feel good enough. Or maybe it's just because a special piece in their life broke. A crack in the dam.

    In my case, I'm empty. I'm a shell, I have no purpose. I admit, I'm not happy. Yet my surroundings gloat at me, they tell a different story. They show the story of a wealthy fifteen year old, who's able to ask for anything at his own leisure. A mirror propped against a wall chooses to portray my outside. A boy with good genes, a boy with a smile. But why can't it for once, just once, show the crumpling image inside of me? I'm not wanted anywhere, I'm just a rich snob. I'm not wanted. I'm not even allowed to leave this cage of a house as myself, everyday posing as a fake identity.

-+-+-

December 15, ????

2:15, living room

    My brother comes into the room, balancing a tray containing a jar with black tea, and a pair of cups. Carefully, he sets them on a coffee table, cups rattling slightly. He sighs, and plops into a white sofa across me. He looks at me, studying my features. Drinking in the features that he's learned to hate. I stare back. He's thirteen, two years younger than me. At his age, he already looks so much like mom, it's almost painful. He's tall for his age, and way too skinny. His brown fringe drapes over his matching eyes. He runs a hand through his hair, adjusting it. His eyes burn with determination, even if hes clearly exhausted. Probably exhausted of my shit. Somehow, ever since we lost mom, he's become the father figure. It's pathetic.

    He crosses his legs and points at the tea.

    "Drink up before it gets cold. I don't want you to be dehydrated." He shifts his eyes and stares at an unnatural white plant across the room.

    I say nothing. I don't move.

    He sighs, his focus turning back to me. "Look, Matthew. I'm sorry about yesterday-"

    I slam my hand on the coffee table, silencing him. The black tea shakes almost spilling over the edge. My hand trembles slightly, but I clench it into a fist.

    "Jonas, this had nothing to do with yesterday." I say softly.

    "Then why have you been avoiding all this time?"

    I advert my eyes to the floor, a smile spreading across my face. I let out an empty chuckle.

    "I don't know. Isn't that funny? I thought I did, but I really don't."

    I look up for a split second. Jonas is rubbing his temple, obviously annoyed with me. "Matthew, you're supposed to be the mature one here, but you're not. Look, the reason I'm at least attempting to talk to you is because I have something important. Behave yourself." He gets up and heads out toward the hallway.

    I stare at my hands, the stupid smile still plastered on my face. After I couldn't hear my brother's footsteps,  I let it crumple, and look around the surroundings I so heavily despised. Our living room is a perfect example of a colorless dystopian world. Everything around me is white. The expensive sofas, the coffee table, the walls, floor, even the fucking cat is white. I'm disgusted by all of it. I'm disgusted with how modern the technology is, with how unnecessarily expensive everything is. Every second I sit here, my sanity chips away.

    Jonas strolls back into the room a few minutes later. His arms are wrapped around a yellow file. The words "classified" are written in small, bold letters. My heart skips a beat.

    "Father told me to bring this to you. He told me that this is for your eyes only, so go ahead." He shoves it into my arms and leaves the room again.

    I set the files on top at the table, the black tea that Jonas brought long forgotten. I rub my sweaty palms up and down my pants. I could hear the blood rushing to my head, the beat of my heart getting faster and louder each second. Finally, is my father finally going to let me into his world? Am I finally going to be useful? I slowly lift up the file and peer inside.

PHEW! You made it this far? Wow congrats! ^-^

Thanks for taking the time to read my story once again, I really appreciate it. Honestly, I don't have a lot planned for this story so let's see how this goes. I'd appreciate any feedback, it'll help me improve my skills as a writer and it'll make the story more enjoyable for future readers. Until next time people of the Internet..