Reminder: Everything belongs to Capcom but my own characters.

I was quite young the day my father passed away, in a car crash my family were told but evidently his body was so severed and split, there was simply not a possibility to put him in a coffer so people had to lay flowers over an empty one on the day of his funeral. Memories of the funeral was misty as it played out in my head, merely pictures and motions were visible - displaying black clothes, huffed cries and condoling flickers from the eyes staring at the young me. Sometimes a slow, dispiriting violin would be playing too. Thinking about it now, how could a car crash be so severe it tore apart someone's limbs so violently? But from the look on my mother's face when she had returned home after identifying the remains of him I understood it was possible. I would also imagine it was that time life lead me into a difficult path in life. My mother was especially shocked, she was one of those people who had the luck enough to duck away from the sad and difficult things in life so once her husband died it was more than a shock to her. It was a realization that life never cared, you were just like the rest - bad things would take place in people's life nonetheless and it could sometimes split one's soul so gravely one would never become their old self again. Days passed by with me lying down on the green lawn in front of my first home after the accident. I always hoped my father was going to walk up the driveway telling everyone the police were mistaken about the body and that the body had belonged to someone who had stolen his car. He would pick me up, tickle me and call me Viv as he constantly did, then my mother would run out of the house crying from joy and returning back to her previous character. Everything was going to be wonderful and I'd have my family back, as it should have been.

My father, Peter Jones, was a scientist and had just started working for Umbrella, it was when Umbrella was still arising and before it became known as a bio-terrorist organization. To this day I never knew of my father's intentions, whether they were from the good of his heart or not but I remembered him as a loving father. The first years of my life were the greatest; I keep looking back at them in gratitude though the awareness of how altered my life got after his death memories of good times only brought me down. The teenage years were the hardest. I became pessimistic, angry and never did a day pass by without me complaining, sighing, or crying. I believe that when you lose the best parts in your life, may it be your job, your family or simply that life wasn't easy; it becomes harder to carry on. One is constantly reminded of the better things that were before and there's a sorrow that is carried with one throughout life.

My mother let that sorrow consume her; in all honestly it was as if she had also died according to me. A week after the funeral for my father - she had woken up and not awoken me (she always used to wake me up in the most magnificent ways). After I had climbed out of bed, searching for my mother, I found her laying on the couch in the living room.

"Mom", I said, shaking her little but she didn't give me an answer.

"Mom, are you all right?"

She didn't respond; her eyes were staring on the celling and they had...no life in them. I was so scared and worried that I had no idea to do. I never forget the suddenly anger in me that appeared. She had never acted like this before, why do it now when I needed her the most?

"Mom, mom, mom!" I began to shout, shaking her more violently but it was in vain, she remained there. I carried on with this for ten minutes but later on I gave up. Giving up would become something I did too easily, there were so many things I let slip through my hands as I recall. It was things such as quitting eating unhealthy and looping, staying behind in school and worst of all never reclaiming my life.

After the day had passed without any reaction from my mother I decided to phone my grandmother and explained the situation, she hurried over to our house despite that she lived in another city. My grandmother was shocked and decided to take her to a doctor. Mom was diagnosed with depression. At that time I didn't really understand what it meant, but grandmother told me it was difficult, almost like losing a piece of your self-everyday. She whispered in my ear, both of us watching my mother gloating at the food in front of her during one dinner.

"Imagine you were told everyday that you lost someone you loved but that someone is just a piece of you. So we have to help mom just a little more, okay? But she'll be all right soon, I promise."

My mom had help to take care of me. She scarcely showed the slightest signs of improvement and this turned into a time of trials for me, I felt I was being judged on how I felt and dealt with the situation and the better I did the more chance I was pleaded innocent but that sentence never came. Because I kept feeling guilty for mom's situation, I felt bad for being angry with her and acting like a brat at times.

My grandparents lived in Raccon City but because they took care of my mother and I so often they planned on letting the two of us move in with them. But another tragedy took place and scarped another hole into my soul and it was larger this time. My grandparents died in Raccon City outbreak. I think I cried more when that happened perhaps from the trauma of losing so many close family members in such a short period of time. Gemma was my grandma's name and she had helped me during the grieving of my father's death and without her my recovery wouldn't have been achievable, for that little time she had to consult me I recovered not fully but a little to the least. It was if she understood me well, whenever I'd stay in my room for the whole day, never leaving she didn't have to ask what was wrong because during that time anything could set me off. The mention of my father, his work, our Sunday family fun that we'd used to have or even watching the cartoons on a Saturday morning made me sick. Dad and I used to watch the cartoons together.

Therefore grandma insisted on creating new traditions that we would follow, there was our Sunday walks and Friday Fun. Grandpa made dessert everyday, since he knew sweets had always been my week spot. Sometimes grandma scolded him for not thinking of what it would do to my health if I ate sweets everyday so he had to slip in a few healthy treats too. Grandma also reminded me if ever I didn't feel like going to school it would be all right, having the knowledge that grandma wouldn't force me into doing something I wasn't ready for encouraged me to go although I didn't feel like it. But merely two months and a half later I lost them too, at first it was my father, then my mother since I'd always count her as well and lastly my grandparents who knew how to look after me and take care of me, they had all absconded and all of these losses defeated me.

It's horrible to say but luckily my father's mother was still alive and we could move and live with her. She used to be very strict and firm but after the two misfortunes that occurred within a short span of my preteens she probably felt that wasn't what I needed at that time. Although she felt sorry for me, I felt she didn't have those feelings towards my mother. One time I noticed her glaring at my mom with judgment in her eyes and shaking her head disappointingly. I was so angry, how could she have the nerve to judge her? But I wouldn't believe she deliberately wanted me to catch her looking with judgment at my mother. She did after all help her and took my mother and I into her home with open arms so I couldn't allow myself to hate a person who was helping me.

ANY THOUGHTS? Lemme me know!