I Will (Ninjago fanfiction)

My Home. . . My Haven. . . My Curse

After shutting the door behind me and clearing my nose, I start to work on my own dinner. Nothing too extravagant like pot roast, just something a little more easier on the body; and the mind. I open the cupboard, and stare at my boxed dinners. Not those TV dinners that you just heat in the microwave, those disgust me; just things that are quick and easy and require minimal babysitting.

Changing my mind, I just grab some of my favorite soup. I thought about having macaroni and cheese, but I can't really have cheese that often, only when I'm really craving it. It's like a cheese-intolerance. I prepare the stove and start making my soup. When I'm confident about it's state and my sense of time, I walk away and stare at my house. There's something wedged between the couches.

I walk over and pull the wooden frame from it's spot. Now I know why it was hidden. I'm the one who hid it . . . from myself. I blow some of the dust off, and look at each member of my family. I can still see my sister Chalice's radiant smile; and hear the outburst laugh of my father. My twin brother, who was more like a big big broher, looks directly at me, his smile & eyes matching mine. I recall those odd times when we would speak the exact same thing at the same time. I remember my mother patching up my knee after I skid it open on the pavement; how her soothing voice calmed me down while she poured peroxide over the wound.

Something cold runs down my cheek. I focus out of the picture of my family and realize that it's a tear, snaking it's way down my face & dripping off my chin onto my shirt. I put the picture frame back, but this time behind the couch. I don't want to see it again. This is what always happens when I stare into it and relive my memories. I smell my soup, but it's not the best smell of it, so I know I've let it harden over; the dry soup that forms on the top of the liquid soup which happens when you leave it idle too long.

I rush back to the kitchen and stir my Progresso soup, breaking the layer of stuff along the top. When it's ready, I dish myself a bowl and sit in the living room. As I blow on the soup & take a few spoonfuls, I look at the landscape of the room. The TV; the rocking chair & ottoman before it.

My eyes pan left of both pieces of furniture and I see my brother building his tower of Janga blocks. It's becoming really high, and I see what's going to happen next. I dive into him, pushing him out of the way, as his tower falls down, almost on top of him. I blink my eyes open when I feel the hard surface of the floor slam into my face & the palms of my hands. My clothes are wet, and my bowl of soup is spilled everywhere. Great, I literally relived one of my scaring memories. I'd loved my brother to death, and I don't know what would've happened if I hadn't pushed him out of the way. It'd've been really painful for him, had the Janga blocks actually crashed on him.

I step up the stairs, one by one, my shoes hitting the floorboards heavily. I walk to my room, which hasn't moved or changed since my family's been here. Opening my closet, I pick out a more simple & comfortable shirt & pants; they're more or less like pajamas, but it doesn't matter, since I'm not expecting company. Nobody except me comes into the house anymore. I don't know if it's just the fact that they don't want to inconvenience me, or make me feel awkward; or if it's also because I've never seemed that open about it.

I come back downstairs & clean up my soupy mess, hearing my father speak wise, but scolding words from one of my memories. After the living room is wiped up, I decide not to eat anything else. I lay down on the couch & turn on the TV, not really watching any show in particular. When I know my eyelids are getting too heavy for me to even pry open, I shut off the TV, slowly trek upstairs and flop onto my bed. My eyes shut tight & I start dreaming before my head even hits the pillow.

My mother tucks my brother into bed, and then comes down the hall to my room. She sings my favorite lullaby and pulls the sheet up to my chin. Her lips kiss my forehead, and her footsteps echo down the hall after she's closed the door. I rest peacefully for about an hour or so, and then I hear a window-cracking scream. My sister!! My eyelids still won't open all the way as I throw myself out of bed while I hear my father and mother wailing. I run down the hall, which is choked in flames and into my brother's bedroom. Luckily, he's not still asleep in his bed. But then I turn and see a dark figure, holding my brother. In the moment that I know what's going to happen, I scream "NO!!!!!" at the top of my lungs, and I tumble out of bed and smack into the floor.

Ow! Holy shit, that hurt! Gosh; I hate it when I relive that memory. It always comes to me at the worst of times. Especially when I'm sleeping, because I'm one of those people who talks & moves in their sleep. I experience everything; and while that could be a good, and maybe even enjoyable thing, it's only pain, misery & Hell for me. It's enough that I already have to go through life without my family by my side, but when I relive some random memory every time I look somewhere in my house, it overwhelms me. I didn't even finish the dream, but I guess I'm glad. I've already been through that more than once, thanks to a sharp and photographic memory; and I hate to re-experience that memory. It's the worst one.

It's the one where everyone else in my family died.

Those images will last in my mind until I eradicate them from my head. And I can't bear to do anything about it.