The Life of a Freak

Chapter 9

Grandma and Grandpa moved into our house two days ago. I preferred in this way because I simply could not imagine living in our house, alone, with the shadows of my past blocking my way. Every corner around the house, every object that belonged to my parents or to Ian, haunted me and brought back memories of the night that scarred my life forever.

When I found one of Ian's toys lying around the seemingly empty and silenced hallways, tears entered my eyes. I no longer heard the merry sounds and laughter around me. After all, who could manage to laugh after what happened that catastrophic night?

I managed to somehow not cry myself to sleep anymore. A week has already passed since the accident, even though I managed to remember every single unwanted detail there was of that seemingly important moment in my miserable, unimportant, good for nothing, life and existence on this cruel Earth. As it was said in one of my favorite books, the world is not a wish-granting factory. Otherwise, my parents and Ian would be right next to me, talking to me in soothing, calm, and loving voices.

None of that night would have happened. I would not have been bothered by the girls at school, because I would be popular. I would have a huge crowd of friends around me. Sadie, my dog, would not pee in every corner of the house. My life would have been a happy one, instead of a miserable mess.

My grandparents decided, without my consent, to take Ian off the life support, because they could "simply not afford it". Now that, my dear friends, is bullshit. He is their grandson! They can't even spend a few coins here and there for their grandsons life?

But most importantly, he is my brother. The only living member of my close- family alive. You would think that my grandparents would at least continue the life-support so that they could still have a piece of their daughter left. Not technically, but emotionally, kind of. You get what I mean, right?

My parents' funeral happened yesterday. I would rather not describe it since for me, the words of the priest and the prayers of the distant family created only a tangled mess of words in my mind.

But, after the funeral itself, a few hours after the bodies were lowered into the graves, I was allowed to privately visit it.

I put on the only clean shoes I had that were right for the weather, which were sandals, told my grandparents that I needed to visit the grave alone, even to Peter, because with him, it would have been awkward, and left. I caught a taxi that drove me to the location.

I walked out of the taxi (after paying, of course) and entered the cemetery, graveyard, tombstone park, whatever you wish to name it.

The sand entered my open sandals and I could feel its gritty particles in between my toes. The chilly wind blew and I put on my light jacket as I walked in between the tombstones, trying to find the right ones.

The eyes from the faces that were skillfully carved into the grey stone always seemed to capture my gaze and to stare back in their lifeless, dead manner. After all, the people they represented were dead.

When I finally arrived at the correct graves, the ones of my parents, I noticed that they were placed right next to each other. Together, forever, or so my parents used to say.

I picked up a new, fallen leaf from one of the tombstones and threw it away, and watched it sail away in the autumn wind.

I leaned on the rail around the grave, refusing to look at the tombstone itself, refusing to have tears flood my face. Tears were already mounting up to my eyes and my vision blurred.

I felt something tickling my arm and when I looked down, I saw a small, fragile-looking, yellow and white, spotted ladybug, slowly crawling up my arm. It's innocence and it's small brown wings captivated my attention. I cupped it up in my other, free hand, and placed it on a small leaf on one of the trees surrounding the graves.

I mentally said goodbye to Mom and Dad and left the cemetery.