You know what sucks about death? The people you love most die, and there's nothing you can do about it. I loved my big brother, I loved him so much! He was like my knight in shining armor when I was in trouble, even though I didn't care. He was innocent, and Kira killed him with one fellow swoop, and what's worse is that he made it obvious that he was a test subject for death, a useless guinea pig. I hate Kira, I hate Kira, I HATE KIRA! I haven't changed much since the death, so no one has noticed anything. They never even asked me if I was alright, they just looked at me, pitied me. Everyone wanted to know how someone like me, could be so emotionless. I didn't ask to be this way, it's the way I am and I deserve better. I wish, I wish I could just get revenge on him, find him, kill him. What sucks, is that now that my big brother is dead, I don't doubt that I'll kill myself eventually, I want to die. It isn't fair, he was innocent, Kira killed an innocent man, his judgement was wrong. He is not justice, justice does not exist. And when I mean Kira killed an innocent man, I mean that my brother was framed, he never did anything wrong. He was framed by manufacturing drugs, a thief ran by and planted some goods in his pocket. One thing led to another, the police was chasing that man, and that police officer cuffed my brother, his name is Vylad. Vylad was the best big brother I could have and now I just stay inside on weekends instead of going somewhere with him. He would always take me to meet his friends from college, and I would bring home friends from my junior year of High school. I just feel empty without him you know? It hasn't been long since he died, just a week and the funeral is today.
I lean back in the front seat of the obsidian black my mom drove, and the breeze beats my face and short chestnut hair violently. I wore black on black on black. One of my favorite color which signifies my soul, my mom pulled up in the parking lot of where the funeral was held, her make-up already ruined with tears. My name is Skulton, but everyone calls me Skull from the pronunciation, how original.
"Are you going to talk anytime soon?" My mom yelled at me her voice classy, like a british accent."You haven't spoken to anyone for a week, I'm worried about you." She teared more.
"Is there anything wrong? Skull! Skulton! Answer me young man! How am I supposed to know if you need anything?" My mother sobbed, she cleaned her face with a soft napkin and the both of us walked to the grave where everyone was sitting, we walked to the front row and sat closest to the body, ready to be buried six feet under.
Silence.
Rows of chairs were set up, speakers surrounding the chairs, and a podium for the priest that would speak for Vlyad. The priest walked down the aisle professionally. He tapped the microphone and cleared his throat. He looked at the carcass, then the family of the carcass sitting in the front row, A bird, some clouds, and back at the dead body. It looked like he didn't know what he was doing. Long story short security came and took the man off, the real priest entered the area of the funeral and stood center in front of the podium.
"We came here today to see the body of Vylad Green, buried. He has lived a happy life with his Mother, Father, and little brother. I know his life was very fortunate. However, with every death comes a new life. Now would someone like to say any words?" The priest walked down from the height of the podium and handed the microphone to one of his friends that clearly wanted to speak.
I sat there, just blank, empty, hollow, void, a lifeless shell. I stared down at the green grass being blown in the wind, such a warm spring day. I couldn't bare spend much time at this funeral, I bit the inside of my lip and clawed my left wrist with my right hand. Blood traveled from both spots of the body I purposely self harmed from, foam came from my mouth and I shook having a seizure. It was dark and cold the rest of that day.
The next day, I wake up in a hospital, not just any hospital a mental hospital, I can tell by the name of the brochures on the far table I could see. I wake up in the white room attached to all kinds of medical equipment. A nurse sits next to my bed and she releases me from its clutches. Neither of us speak a word, she just signals me to follow her, and we end up in a very classy room. A bear rug, fireplace, two comfortable chairs and a table in between. From behind it looks like no one is in the chair, but when I see it from the front a psychologist sits there and two cups of tea were sitting on that table. I was forced to sit down by the nurse, she left quickly after that.
"I've heard you had a recent death, Skulton. Do you know what I'm here for?" The psychologist stared deeply, his black eyes gazed into my soul."To start off I'm , I heard you, Um, haven't been talking and we won't make any progress like that won't we? So as soon as you start talking and we make progress that's when I will make the decisions on releasing you. Your mother has sent a letter to you." He slid the letter next to my cup of tea."Good day now, you need more rest. We will talk more later after you're settled in." I grabbed the letter."It also seems your mother has died of a stroke, the stress from the death of your brother was too much for a fragile woman like her, but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I seem to wonder how differently you acted without these odd turn of events."
I got up from my chair and looked at that man in a different light. He wore a suit, and tie, along with a hat, a slightly big build and quite young, maybe in his late 20's. It makes me wonder what he went through.
Day one, of my rehabilitation not much has happened, I never spoke not even to the nurses, and ate as little as possible without the employees forcing every speck of food down my throat. They tied me up, used different devices just to feed me.
The only person I had left was my Father, he visited on weekends, he tried talking to me, and everytime he would leave it was a big hug, and he'd tell me about all the money he had saved for me when I get out of this mental home. Did I mention the name of this place? The name is benne plane mental facility, benne literally means dumpster in french. This place is named dumpster plane, how creative right?
Day five, all the previous attempts were no good, my doctor thought he got something out of me but it was just a cough. He swears he heard me say something, probably a silly attempt to get me to laugh. I guess he liked observing me, we were both new to the facility. I'm his first and only patient, well so he says. enjoys time with me, it makes me feel better, like that emptiness turned into something amusing.
Day eleven, his birthday was yesterday, since I didn't feel like talking I just gave him a thumbs up. With that he wrote something good down on a piece of paper. He keeps asking me about my mother's letter, but I couldn't care less. She was the bitch that got me in this dump anyway, no pun intended.
I can't see why my father hasn't disagreed, well the most he did while I was in here was pay for a tutor while I was inside.
It was pointless, my mind couldn't comprehend what was going while being tutored.
One day I turned eighteen, and told me his first name, Blake. I was finally old enough to be taken out of the hospital for fresh air, a new atmosphere. On the outside I seemed very dull, but I was really excited. I just wanted to know, what it feels like to cry, to love, I get tired of that empty feeling inside of my heart. The feeling of depression, eating me inside out like a parasite.
"Today's our day isn't it?" Blake said enthusiastically."I've always wanted to take you somewhere, I knew from the day I met you we would share a growing bond. What do you say? Ice cream?"
Silence.
I was old enough to do a lot, but I was also restrained, at equal terms with my fate. I am a bird with its wings snapped off, it isn't entirely a bad feeling, I've grown quite used to it. It was around midnight, getting ice cream at this time of night, how strange, but I didn't care. We stopped and walked in an Ice cream parlor, I needed to go to the bathroom so I signed with gestures. I walked into that disgusting bathroom, I stood there looking at myself in the mirror, it had been a long time I felt a little dizzy. The stress was getting to me, my revenge grew hotter than the flames of hell, redder than the shade of an apple. I looked into the mirror and stared Kira down.
"Die! Die! Die!" I repeated." Die! Die! I'll kill you!" I punched the mirror, the back of my hand bled and dripped down the tips of my fingers.
"Are you okay?!" Blake came storming in he wrapped his warm arms around me and walked me out of there. As we passed our table it seems he placed the ice cream cones in a cup upside down."Don't ever do that again! God! I hate it when you self harm. You promised me you wouldn't do that again." Blake bandaged my hand and we went back into the parlor, he paid for the broken mirror and then took a seat next to me.
I struggled trying to eat my ice cream, my good hand was injured so I was forced to use my other hand. The ice cream was red, fruity, and reminded me of blood. Strawberries are my favorite, Chocolate is okay, and Vanilla is good too. I was tired that night but I liked looking at the moon, so I stared at the moon from my seat. I leaned on his arm hypnotized, I envied the moon, how something could be so beautiful, and I'm just a sack of disaster. I fell asleep on his arm, I asked myself, would the old me be embarrassed.
I woke up several hours later in the car he and I were sleep, It was still dark, maybe around 3am. I stretched and accidently hit Blake in his face, a loud smack followed by the red forming in his cheeks. he woke up as well and decided now was the best time to talk, sadly with his morning vanilla breath. I threw a tic-tac in my mouth so he couldn't criticize, he yawned and stretched the same as I did except hit the other in the face, then rubbed his cheek.
"Hey, doesn't this feel great." he sighed."Sometimes I wish you'd talk to me, it is fair you keep all your thoughts to yourself. You get what I mean? Sign language is not enough for me, I NEED MORE!"
"If you needed more you could've asked." The boy finally spoke.
"Wow. That actually worked. What made you speak to me, of all people?"
"Well my mom is dead and is most likely the one who put me in this damn hospital." His voice rich like his mother's."My dad is a wreck, my brother obviously dead, and you're the only one here I can speak to." Skulton's voice softened."Also because, I feel like you're the only one that can understand me. You're the only one that has been here for a while and the only one trying. I haven't been doing anything, but I'm doing the best I can which is why I learned sign language."
Blake listened deeply."I've just been confused on where my life is going, I have so much pressure weighing against my shoulders, I just, I don't know what to do. I don't know what I want to do, the world seems, bland to me. I thought I wanted revenge, from my brother's death, but that wasn't helping me. I'm letting go of his death and finally accepting it, but it doesn't change the fact that I still have issues." Skulton sighed."I guess the only thing I can do best is ignore the world, I wish I'd die, sometimes."
"You know what, I'm here. You don't need him or your mother or anyone. Just me, I can be here for you I'll adopt you, take care of you, love you, like you deserve. I was like you when you were my age, and I was saved, all by myself. I was my own inspiration to become a psychologist and help people like You and I, for this problem. You and I are both the same, you a little more mental than I." saying it politely Skulton taking it the wrong way.
I felt like I was getting better, I completely freaked out from stress. I never felt anything so painful, the stress was making knots with my intestines. The only person who I knew understood me was somehow against me, or was it all in my head? The next day I ended up in a normal hospital, I was unconscious, in a coma. Blake visited Skulton everyday, no matter what kind of position he was placed in. It was because Skulton had experienced and went through something similar. Blake knows that someday he will come out of this, because Blake came out of something like this himself. And now Blake waits for the day that Skulton will rise from his coma and speak the words he wants to say, the feelings he wants to express, the feelings about himself and not others.