In the summer of 2014, on a hot summers day in the middle of school I got a phone call. The person on the other end of the phones name was Ashton, and he was one of my parents' really good friends. He told me that my parents and only sister had been in a freak accident and had died immediately after impact.

My life changed, and on that day I remember that I cried and cried until there was no more tears left to shed. I remember going home to that empty house that I shared with my mom, dad and my sister Shirley. That same night of the accident I had slept in my parents bed, surrounded by big pillows and a big fluffy duvet. I had nightmares of mutilated faces, of guts pouring out of there stomach and of so, so much blood.

The morning after was probably the worst, though. I woke up with a false sense of security and walked out of my parents room and down the hallway to see if they were there like they usually would be. I remember making some joke as I walked down the hall. It was a pretty stupid joke, and from any person watching from the outside would have found it morbid.

I had said, "The bacon smells burnt Mom!"

But when I had walked down that hallway to the kitchen that my family usually occupied in the morning when I had woken up late I saw nobody to great me. Shirley wasn't giving me some snide remark about how my hair looked like a complete and utter mess, or how I still hadn't put a shirt on yet, and mom and dad weren't there – one cooking breakfast while the other one sat at the table with a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper. It was normal, and that's how it should have stayed.

Reality had hit me hard that morning, and instead of trying to do anything to help the grieving process I sat in the middle of the floor. I don't know how long I had really sat there when I found out everything had been taken away from me, but it must have been a pretty long time because the sun, when I had finally come to my senses, was set high above the house and the floor beneath me was too warm.

I remember a shrill ring of the phone, I wanted it so bad to be mom or dad that I had jumped up and answered the phone without a hello, and only a really hopeful yet broken "Mom, dad?!"

There was a long, long silence before I even got an answer.

I remember hearing the voice that had called me at school, were I had been studying for my finals in college. It was low and deep and throaty, "John," just the sound of my name being called made tears pop into my eyes, and I could see them, start to spill over, my vision blurry. "John I – I – oh god I am so sorry that I had to call you like that at school yesterday. I – well, there are some people that need to speak with you… and they are coming over soon to discuss some things okay?"

I nodded, but felt stupid and sad when I remembered that this person, this person who I was desperately trying not to hate, couldn't see me. I didn't respond back to him, only sobbed before hanging up the phone.

The rest of the time was sort of like a blur, I can't really remember but some people had come to the house and had discussed funeral plans with me. And all I remember thinking at the time was 'how dare you? How dare you come into my house and discuss these stupid things with me when they only just passed away yesterday?' It was something like sad rage. I vaguely remember that when they left, I knew that I had decided on cremation.

That night, I had broken into the alcohol cabinet, and drank myself to sleep. Dreams plagued with gore and monsters.

A/N: Whats up? Comment maybe? yeah i started a new story, i think i am going to try it out and all that so yeah :3