PLEASE READ!: I had this wonderful idea for a Little Miss Sunshine story, and here it is. This is just a short intro, but I hope you like it.

"To forget one's purpose is the commonest form of stupidity"

-Friedrich Nietzsche

He stared out of the window of the hospital, unwilling to look at his mother as she stood behind him. "I already went through this with uncle Frank." She mumbled, getting no response from Dwayne as she knelt beside the wheelchair he was seated in. She reached up and grabbed his hand, tracing small circles over the bandage that covered his wrists. She held back the tears, pretending to be as calm as she possibly could be. "You might not love me, but I love you. Remember that." She choked out, standing and holding her hand out to him. Unthinking, he took it, standing beside her as she led him out of the hospital.

"I'm sorry." He said finally, breaking the silence of the car ride. She wasn't sure if he meant it, or if he just wanted to make her feel better. Sheryl took it either way and looked between him and the road in quick seconds, reaching for his hand and squeezing. "No, I'm sorry, Dwayne."

Having had his one dream crushed completely, he ended up being stuck at home. While he loved his family, he hated them. He hated the feeling of being in his own skin, he hated that it was Dwayne Hoover that looked back at him in the mirror. He hated the voice he heard when he spoke, he hated the name he saw when he signed a paper, he hated the clothes he found when he opened his dresser drawers, he hated the visions that passed his mind when he dreamed at night.

He hated Dwayne Hoover.

After discovering his handicap with color, these feelings bubbled over, and continued. Day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year, for five years.

His mother's marriage ended about a year after their road trip, getting custody of Olive, who understood and accepted the divorce more than she probably should have for only being eight years old. She was 13, now, and Dwayne had just celebrated his 22nd birthday, drinking alone on the garage roof while staring at the sky that had no stars due to light pollution from the nearby city.

It was that night that he decided he would kill himself.

A year ago, in Dwayne's perfect world, he would be spending his 22nd in the sky, behind the controls of a fighter plane, reveling in the view below him. Today, in Dwayne's perfect world, his suicide attempt was successful. Now, he's only grateful that it was uncle Frank that found him, and not Olive or his mother.

He dreaded going home. Seeing the understanding that was most likely to show on Franks face, and the heartbreak that would no doubt show on Olives.

That's exactly what he had come home to.

He shuffled to his room, not facing anyone, or expecting anything, only to find Olive sitting on his bed, tears running down her face. He stood in the doorway, staring at her, deciding whether to say what he wants to say, or what he should say. "Please keep the door open, Dwayne." Sheryl called quietly after him. "Olives in here with me." He assured her, never taking his eyes off his sister as he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

To Dwayne, Olive was the most beautiful girl in the world. He studied her features. She was still the same Olive, but she had gotten taller, and grew into her weight. Her long hair was shorter only by a few inches, with layers and bangs, but she always kept it in a braid that hung over her shoulder. She had braces, and the same glasses that were just too big for her small facial features. She was growing up, and Dwayne was so proud to call her his sister.

Her eyes traveled to his bandaged wrists. He walked over to his night stand, opening the drawer, and grabbing the knife that he used just days before. Olive watched him closely with bloodshot eyes, shocked to see the knife, as he carefully began to cut away at the bandages. He handed the pocket knife to Olive, who took it without hesitation, as she closed it and put it in her jacket pocket, full intent to get rid of it when she had the chance. She looked back at his wrists as he gently pulled each bandage off, setting them in the garbage. Nothing was going through either of their minds, they just watched each other.

Dwayne knelt down in front of her, his wrists facing upward in between them, knowing he had to be gentle with this subject. He watched her study the stitches that held the deep lacerations closed. They went vertically, unlike their uncle, who had a scar going across each wrist. Along with the two bigger ones on Dwayne's wrists, smaller cuts littered his forearms. Frank took himself to the hospital in his attempt. He found Dwayne passed out in his room, near minutes away from no longer being a part of this world.

"Do you understand?" He asked Olive simply. She her blue eyes finally left his wrists to meet his green eyes as they welled up with tears again. "I understand what you did," she started, trying to contain her sobs. Every heart string Dwayne had was bending and twisting, but he kept a straight face as she continued, "But I don't understand why."

Dwayne nodded, standing and sitting on his bed beside her, and leaning down, pulling her with him so that they lay together. He held onto her tightly as she sobbed, explaining that Dwayne was her best friend, and that she loved him. He tried to calm her down, each sob that left her body took another chunk out of his heart.

"I know you love me," He started, once Olive finally started to relax, "but I don't love me." It was the easiest way he knew how to explain it. Olive was quiet for a long time, processing, trying to stop herself from looking at her brothers arms. He was always the one that was strong for Olive. The one that would tell her why other kids in class were saying hurtful things to her, or why boys were the way they were. He was always helping her with her homework, or reading philosophical books to her, telling her his favorite Nietzsche or Freud quotes.

"I need you to be my big brother, still." She finally said, sitting up and looking at her older brother. Dwayne sat up carefully, his arms still tender, and he looked at her, forcing a smile. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

… to be continued...