When I woke up, not only was I at the hospital with a brain concussion, I was also interrogated by the police. Luckily they believed every single word I said, possibly because the entire scene on it's own was odd enough, too odd maybe for someone like me to pull off. Likely, these policemen are the only ones that ever considered me normal, which is something not even my parents do.
When my parents returned home, they were angry with me. They were angry because I could've died there. Any other parent would be happy because I didn't die. I remember beginning to regret fighting for my life back there. Now I don't know what I regretted the most at that time: killing someone to stay alive, or killing someone but not knowing why and probably never find out why.
Life couldn't get much worse after this, I kept telling myself, and I was right. One way or another, I managed to get enrolled at the college they wanted me to be. Unfortunately for them, I wasn't taking the courses they wanted me to. They got me enrolled for doing medicine, but behind their backs, I managed to get enrolled for creative writing instead.
I had such a wonderfully time that year. For the first time in my life I could actually go out and have fun, I actually even had friends! Still, they were merely acquaintances, people who happen to be in the same classes as I am, and nothing more. In other words, in fact nothing to be considered as some kind of friendship at all. But then summer came near...
I was about to return to my parents house. I could say return home, but I hardly even call it that anymore. I would give anything just so I won't have to go back. Fortunately, the first two weeks of summer, my parents were gone for business again, like last year. That was roughly the only bit I remembered. I had managed to repress the rest somehow. But one night during those two weeks, can't exactly remember the day, had changed that.
