Someone Like Me

Daisy Bennett

I can't stand watching innocent people get hurt for no reason. That's why I hate watching the news, there is always so much negativity. That's one thing the news and school have in common. Usually there is always someone in a school that makes another persons life miserable. 

Which is why I wouldn't be going if it wasn't the law. School makes me feel sick, mainly when fights occur. You would know if someone hated someone else. They either start a brawl or slowly tear down your status until you have nothing left. That's just how things go.

My mom always told me that other people pick out insecurities they have and try to humiliate others with it. But I can't tell, honestly no one can unless you are the person behind the pain. Everyone does something for a reason whether good or bad.

It reminds me of my brother Brandon. He was the typical 'bad boy' at our school in Bayside. He was always in trouble for starting fights or being some part of them. I knew it was unacceptable, but he was older. I could tell him to 'straighten up and start acting your age,' but it's not like he would listen.

I was always the one to tend his wounds after a street fight. He always came back with torn up knuckles. Our dad never really took care of us, our mom did though. She was just gone most of the time. Brandon came to me because he knew I cared about him.

Until...he stopped coming. I worried more and more once he started to leave for a day and not come back until the next night. He tried to hide his bruises so I wouldn't get upset, but I knew they were there anyway. Which made me more uneasy about it. What else was he trying to cover up? Was he hurting on the inside as much as he was on the outside?

I had finally decided to confront him about fighting. I waited a day for him. Then two. Then three. The days started adding up and on the eighth day I called the police and filed for a missing person. 

While I wasn't at school, I would be pacing in my room waiting for the call saying my brother was fine and would be coming back to me. I needed him as much as he needed me. 

We were always there for each other, and he always came back. Always. Days turned to a month. Still I waited, believing he'd come back for me. I'd tell him how I felt and he'd be safe. Safe with me.

One day when my dad was gone, someone knocked on the door. I hopefully ran down the stairs at the thought of it being Brandon. That he came back. Joyfully I opened the door, only to be thrown into a wave of sadness. 

He was gone. The only thing I cared for, was gone. Never to come back. I was lost, I was truly alone now. I cried, out of self hate and anger. I loved him, and he was taken from me.  

I blamed myself, I should have told him sooner. Maybe he would still be alive. I was bombarded with thoughts of how he'd died. Was it slow and painful? Or was it quick so he didn't have to suffer? 

I'd imagined my life differently. A life with my brother. A life with a dad that cared for us and our well being. A life of happiness...but none of that came. 

I changed schools because I couldn't stand to pass by Brandon's old locker or to think that he used to walk those halls. It was my Junior year and life felt as if it couldn't get worse. 

I felt like the cause of my brothers death, I had no friends, and no one to talk to. I just wanted someone to understand. Someone like me.