A/N: I'm sooooo sorry but i have to write these builder/filler chapters, it's okay if you do not read this story anymore, cous right now its soooooooo horrible. If you do then, I hope it's worth it for you.

Chapter 5: Home

I must've been in a state of adrenaline because by the time I was at the bus station I couldn't feel anything. Everything was drained out of me. On the trip there; when I was awake it was like a void of nothingness; unsettling, distracting and unproductive. Asleep, I was restless, and almost the same as I am awake. It was horrible.

I am in a state of nothingness, and did everything to get out of it. I thought of the hope of ever seeing Aleeysha happy with me again, when the reality was that was probably never going to happen, because after I'm going to join the army; not that I minded. I thought of my dad's illness. Sometimes called the Black Fever or the Rusalka Fever, a fever so old treatment was never found; and so rare medicine was barely made, nevertheless expensive. Not working. Then I thought of seeing my mom again, even if she was dead. That led of thoughts of suicide; which repulsed me, unless it was a sacrifice. I thought of how it was my fault my dad died, not getting enough money in time. It was like the fire of hurt, anger and disbelief already died down; while coaxing a fire from ashes is impossible.

I almost gave a man 10 bucks instead of the hundred he asked for, for his boat. I asked for a row boat. I don't know why, but the rhythmic beat it has helps. Forward and back you row, while the boat rocks inexplicably irregular motions. I must sound insane to you, talking about motions of a row boat; I honestly don't know why I feel compelled to, anyways.

I arrive at home, which is basically everything you'd imagine an incredibly high-tech place. Almost everything is white, too efficient, and too clean, machines do almost all the work, except for the ones that "build character/muscle". It's like this place was thought through before someone actually made it. In case you're wondering, this island was manmade. The whole island floats with aluminum and is supported at the bottom where people actually live subsea. We're lucky enough to live above see, because our family has lived her for generations. Of course, the entire island has been modified since then.

In my house, there is an ominous silence in the house, as if the house itself was acknowledging what happened. The house was dark inside, so I went to the only room lit up, my brother's room.

"Funeral's tomorrow," I have no idea how he knew I came in. "Get some rest."

"Sure," I couldn't think of anything better, but my brother usually wasn't this… stiff. "Hey nick?"

"Yeah?"

"You too."

That night was by far one of the worst in my life. My sleep was plagued by nightmares of being awake in a dark world. I was alone. And everyone I passed by looked like someone I lost, from behind. When I'd try and see if they were who I thought they were, they'd hiss and cuss. For some reason, my brother was there too. And then all of a sudden they were all facing, the ones I lost, but they were tall, large, and looming. Their eyes morphed into eye's of a snake, they told me they didn't want me, I didn't belong, I shouldn't have come. Then they took out their guns and shot at me. Neither of them missed. My vision blurred.

I woke up. The gunshot from my dream ringing in my ears, echoing with the patter of rain outside; it almost made me feel like my dream was real. I had the thickest comforter in the room but I still shiver.

It's 5am, and I don't think there's any point in going back to sleep. The funeral's at 1, so I had plenty of time to kill.

-After I killed plenty of time-

The funeral was beginning. I wasn't numb anymore, not in the least. I guess after seeing your dad who you haven't seen in a month; healthy in at least two, in a coffin, it finally hits home. I know this sounds babyish but I haven't hurt this bad in a while; in fact I think I hurt less getting shot, because adrenaline made the pain easier. The only time I ever hurt this bad, was when I came home crying, because I learned I was the only kid without a mom; the only kid that had to beg for his dad to tell him what happened, and to find out his mom died at birth, because of him. Don't you just feel peachy now?

Having people come to the podium to talk about how much they miss him, and how great he was, how strong he was with the illness, was the absolute worst thing about the funeral. They went up to talk about when he was alive; ever so diligently reminding me that he was dead. Some stories made me smile, just a little, then I realise that he's dead.

It was my turn to go up, and honestly I had no clue what to say. I was supposed to have a script, but nothing seemed worthy to say in front of his grave, so I guess I'll just have to make it up as I go along. "Hi everyone, I'm sorry I don't have anything to say but if I really had anything to say I would say to say right now it would be that he's dead. He'll never be there in the morning sipping his coffee reading his newspaper, enthusiastically talking about war strategies, inspiring to make a difference, to stand in the front line, ready to die for everyone, or to smile at me when I'm crying because he knows there's nothing he could say to make me feel better. He told me once that life is like speech, and you have to figure out what yours is going to be about…uhm, that's all." I ran from the podium.