fake your death, be the ghost of me

After the storm

I dropped the mail and could've swore
it fell to the ground in slow motion. My
whole world was coming to an end.
Very slowly and all at once I had a
splintering headache and was
overcome with nausea. What was I
going to do? I couldn't leave mom at
home. She needed me. Dad needed
me. I can't do this.
I fell to the ground as pure terror
set in. Leaning against the mailbox I
couldn't help but see images of me being
shot. Dying slowly as some other
solder tries to save me. God, this is
going to be the death of me.
I must've lost track of the time
because before I knew it, mom was
rushing out the door with a blanket.
"Frank Anthony Iero, where have you
been?! Your father and I have been
worried sick!" she yelled as she
wrapped the blanket around me and
tried to stand me up. I handed her
the unopened letter. "Oh, Frankie" she
said, hugging me.
"What am I going to do mom?"
"I don't know hon"
We walked inside and sat down at
the table. My mother said something
that I knew to be true but didn't want
to accept.
"You have to open it you know."
"Yeah, I know"
She brought over the letter opener,
along with the stupid letter. There, in
black and white, I saw it. "I only have two
weeks" I said,
rubbing my forehead in frustration.
"I see," my mother said "What are
you going to do?"
"I suppose there's only one thing I
can do, isn't there?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
I barely slept that night for the
images that were filing my thoughts
earlier that day. And when I did
finally sleep, I had terrible, terrible
nightmares. I can't do this. I just can't...