(Written July 30, 2014)
The paramedics came and rushed me to the hospital after I fainted. Once awake, I refused to speak for weeks. I was a mere child engulfed in the grief of a loved one's passing. Connor's death hit my parents equally hard.
My mom, who was always dancing and humming the latest pop song, never played a tune in our house again. My dad, who once never got tired of smiling, stopped smiling after his son's death.
When we returned home from the hospital, I despised every room of the house. Every wall, every corner, reminded me of memories created with my brother. The house didn't feel like a home without Connor; it was merely four walls and a roof haunted by the memories of a kid who passed too soon.
To drown out the pain, both my parents turned to alcohol and pills. They forgot they had another child. With time, I grew older but also grew further from them. The same parents I followed everywhere as a toddler were the ones I was terrified of going near in my early teens. Now, even at the age of 19, I always stayed in my bedroom when they were home.
My thoughts return to the living room, and a realization hits me. I've felt alone for most of my life, but now, I truly am an orphan.
If I had done things differently, maybe they would both be alive. After a moment of contemplation, I realize what I need to do now. I get up and walk into my bedroom. I look around the bedroom I have spent almost my entire life in. I open my closet, take out my old backpack, and place it on my bed.
In the front pocket, I place the photos of Connor, my parents, and me, including the one I found earlier on the living room floor. I open another pocket and place all my toiletries. In the largest pocket, I fold and fit 2 pairs of jeans, a couple of shirts, two sweaters, sweatpants, and undergarments.
I open a cupboard drawer and take out the money I have saved up and place it in my backpack, hoping it'll be enough to survive a few weeks. As I'm zipping the backpack up, I remember my mother telling me I could take money from Connor's closet if needed, since I'd be the only person he'd actually have given his savings to. Until today, I have never considered touching the money, but now, I walk into his room, open a drawer, lift up a photo of me, and take a black wallet filled with cash.
I walk back into my room, change out of my pajamas and into a blue tee, khaki shorts, and blue sneakers. I then wrap a blue and grey flannel around my waist and put on my backpack. It's funny how someone's whole world can fit into a mere backpack. With that, I leave for the living room.
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YOU ARE READING
Tuning Heartstrings
Short StoryLiz knows loneliness all too well. Haunted by the shadow of her brother's tragic death and engulfed in the ocean of her parents' grief and guilt, Liz struggles to find a reason to live and distances herself from the world. As she navigates a life fu...