Red and blue lights flashed, casting an eerie glow on the night. The blaring sirens shattered the tranquility, jolting the sleepy neighborhood into a state of alarm. I stood among the gathering crowd, my gaze fixed on the source of the commotion—Celeste's house. Dread settled over me, tightening my chest as I braced myself for what awaited.
Kenmur arrived, racing up the stairs, desperate to see his sister's lifeless body. I sat huddled in the doorway, too stunned to find my voice. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of the tragedy, Ken crumbled, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his baby sister's lifeless form. It only took a few seconds before I joined him, the weight of the situation crashing down upon me.
Luna, who had rushed over to take me home, approached in her car. Her eyes widened in horror as they landed on the scene before her—an encircled house wrapped in caution tape, an ambulance occupying the driveway.
"Oh my god, Zeke! What happened?!" Luna's voice trembled with disbelief.
"A girl committed suicide in that house," a firefighter nearby explained, gesturing towards Celeste's home. "We found him and another young man with her."
Luna gasped, her hand instinctively covering her mouth. "My god. Is she going to be okay?" she asked, her voice filled with anguish.
"We don't know. Her parents have been notified. What is your relation to the victim?" the firefighter inquired.
"Siblings," Luna lied, determination glistening in her eyes. "We're her siblings."
"Bring the brother over here," the firefighter directed another person.
Kenmur approached, his eyes bloodshot, shoulders sagging with the weight of grief.
"Are these two your siblings, sir?" the firefighter asked Ken.
Ken must have sensed the desperation in Luna's pleading eyes, for I overheard him confirm, "Yes, they are. Luna and Zeke."
The firefighter turned to Luna. "Where were you tonight, Ms. Luna?" he inquired.
"I was at a friend's house," Luna responded, her voice choked with suppressed sobs.
"Apologies for the questions, all of you," the firefighter offered, his tone softened by understanding. "It's part of my job."
"It's okay," Luna replied, her voice strained as she held back her tears.
Just then, Celeste's parents arrived, their faces etched with a sense of foreboding.
"We came as soon as we could," Mr. Smith stated, his voice laden with anguish.
The firefighter turned his attention to them. "Are you the parents of these kids?" he asked.
"Yes," Mrs. Smith replied, her voice trembling. "They're ours."
The firefighter nodded in acknowledgement. "Your daughter is being taken to the Massachusetts General Hospital emergency room. I suggest you get there as soon as possible."
"Noted. Kids, get in the car," Mrs. Smith commanded.
"Noted," Kenmur whispered.
The car ride to the hospital was somber, the weight of our grief stifling any conversation. Only Luna, with her unsteady voice, made a call to our actual parents, the bitter realization of their absence weighing heavily upon her.
They're never here when we need them.
Once at the hospital, Ken, Luna, and I found ourselves seated in the waiting area while Celeste's parents sought information about their daughter's whereabouts. Silence enveloped us, rendering us unable to find words. Shock still gripped me, having witnessed the sight of my dearest friend lying lifeless, her body marred by the aftermath of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. I curled up into a ball, closing my eyes tightly. And there we sat, for what felt like an eternity, awaiting news that would further shatter our world.
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"Zeke, wake up," Luna's voice broke through the haze of my half-conscious state.
We were still in the hospital waiting room. Standing before us, a doctor emanated an air of solemnity. I could discern from his eyes that the news he carried would be far from comforting.
"I apologize for waking you, but we need to discuss your sister's condition," the doctor announced.
I could sense the gravity of his words even before he spoke them.
"What is it?" my voice croaked, weighed down by the heaviness of despair.
Luna and Ken looked at me, surprise mingling with their grief. Destiny was asleep though her parents had tried to wake her too.
The doctor averted his gaze, sighing deeply. "I'm sorry. She didn't make it. She was pronounced dead on arrival, but we made every effort to revive her. I'm truly sorry."
And then I shattered.
My best, no, my only friend was gone—snuffed out by the darkness that had enveloped her. Luna held me tight as I unleashed my grief, my tears flowing unabated. I cried not only for myself but for Celeste, who had suffered so deeply, for Kenmur, who had lost his beloved sister, for the guilt that gnawed at me, knowing I could have done more.
"Can we go see her, doc?" Ken's voice trembled with a mix of desperation and sorrow.
The doctor nodded solemnly. "I believe your parents would want you to. Room B474," he informed us.
In a daze, we walked down the sterile hospital corridor, seeking the room the doctor had mentioned. A palpable weight hung in the air as we entered. There she lay, my friend, lifeless and fragile, a solitary flower resting gently in her hands. I positioned myself at the foot of the bed, overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness.
"I'm sorry," the words tumbled from my lips, their weight heavy in the stillness.
Ken glanced at me, his tear-streaked face etched with grief. "What are you sorry for?" he asked, his voice laden with emotion.
"For not being able to help her," I replied, my voice filled with defeat.
"You did your best, bud. None of us could have known what she was capable of," Ken reassured me, his tears flowing freely.
He was right—I couldn't have fathomed the depths of Celeste's despair. I had believed she was on the path to recovery. How wrong I had been.
"I know," I conceded, a sense of resignation coloring my voice.
Turning to Luna, I embraced her tightly, her tears mingling with mine.
"I'm sorry, Zeke," she whispered, her voice choked with sorrow.
"It's okay," I whispered back, trying to find solace in her presence.
Releasing Luna from the embrace, I approached Mr. and Mrs. Smith, enveloping them in a hug. Our shared silence spoke volumes, transcending the need for words.
"I'm sorry," I uttered softly, hoping they could sense the depths of my remorse and empathy.
YOU ARE READING
Memories
Teen Fiction----- This book series was written by someone who was struggling mentally in high school. Things will be cringey and may not make sense. Harsh topics will be brought up. My only hope is that you have fun if you choose to read. Thank you. Thank you t...
