Short Writings

1 (OTGW)

   Wirt finds out Greg was murdered.

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   Wirt was worried.

   He hadn't seen Greg in days. It was eating at him, pinching at his soul in little pieces instead of taking him whole.

   It hurt. He hurt. It was his fault Greg got lost. If he hadn't had left him alone he wouldn't be lost.

   As soon as he came home, his parents sat him down to have a talk about him. Their eyes were puffy and red as they sat on the couch in front of him, his mother barely keeping herself together. Ever since Greg had disappeared, his parents had been more secluded. Their usual demeanor replaced by a solemn attitude. 

   But this had been the worst he'd seen them yet.

   His step-father decided it was time to speak, for his mother would break down if she tried.

   "Wirt…Greg...he...he's dead… I'm so sorry. They found his body about an hour or two ago."

   Every little barrier Wirt had built to protect himself from his fears had come crashing down. This is one of his fears. Greg was dead. He let this happen to his brother.

   They sat there in silence. Wirt was doing his best to keep himself composed. He never wanted this. If only he had been a better brother. He was such a horrible, horrible brother. All the mean things he's ever said to him. He wish he could take it back. Apologies for his actions. But he can't. Greg is dead and he can't ever see him again.

   "I...I'm sorry, I have to go." 

   Wirt ran. He ran to his room. His safety place. No one could see him cry there. No one could see the absolute devastation the death of his younger brother had brought upon him. The sobs that racked his body, making him heave so hard his lungs started to hurt. His tears flowed so freely, the river was beginning to dry.

   Greg was so young. He was seven. Wirt was supposed to protect him. What was he supposed to do when he can't even protect his younger brother? He had so much to live for. So much to see. So much to hear. His life was unfinished poem, a song that ended before the chorus. 

   Greg was so happy. Who had murdered this sweet child? His brother? His best friend, through hate and love?

   That bastard. Wirt hated him. He took his brother away. They took one of the only things still giving him actual joy in this word away. 

   Wirt sat there, laying in bed. No one knew about the boy who was playing in the unknown, refusing to acknowledge why he was there.