Sorry this story hasn't been updated lately. I've been very busy, and my laptop had a hidden virus and took a billion and two years to load anything, and every page on the internet was "untrusted". Again, I sincerely apologize to those of you who liked my story and were hoping for a quicker update.
"Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God," Jonathon kept mumbling these three words and he wouldn't shut up. It had been about two hours now, and I was literally dying from the inside out. "You've said 'God' more times in the past few hours than a priest has in his entire elderly life, Jonathon," I said loud enough for him to hear me on the neighboring hospital bed, but not loud enough for the nurse a few yards away from us to hear.
He then glared at me, and continued his priest training.
I'd never commit another crime if he'd begin an oath if silence, I swear.
"Seriously, though you're being more dramatic than an LMN movie and Oprah combined." I continue to try to get him on board with this 'silence' thing, by trying to bribe him with not losing his pride by getting compared to middle-aged women on cheesy television, but he continues saying those three words that can get so old so, so fast.
If he isn't quiet in ten minutes, give me him, a pillow, a latex glove, and no suspects. (I was totally joking…)
"Jonathon, there are currently many things that could make you be say what you are saying, so what are they?"
This time he was quiet.
The mood in the room had drastically changed from annoyance and playful mocking, to serious and gloomy.
"Jonathon, you can trust me, your my brother; we're family. Please tell me what's wrong, man."
"Today is literally one of the worst days of my life; there are so many things wrong, that I can't even count that high, Alexander," he lowly started to tell me once everyone was gone from the room they were currently in. His amber eyes glazed over, as if remembering a distant memory, which I knew he was.
"Who knows where Isabelle is, doing who knows what, and we aren't there to help her, protect her, be with her, supervise her; it's…his…anniversary; AND THESE FREAKIN PAIN KILLERS ARE WEARING OFF!" He had yelled his entire sentence, but screamed the last part so the nurse would hear him in the other room, and give him the medicine to calm him down, and sure enough, she did. She came in and gave Jonathan three very large and colorful pills that I'm positive I would have choked on because of the size, and swallowed them almost instantly.
By the time the nurse finished her dumb and pointless little checkup on me and my brother, he was already asleep from the medicine, and I was left alone as the only conscious mind in the room. This might sound like the cheesiest thing in the world, but I was actually left in the dim room to contemplate life. My life.
Life is a funny thing; it is the best thing that will ever happen to you, but the creators of this supposed only life left many of its inhabitants broken. Max had always believed that whoever created everything should be called the Creators, while whoever takes anything from everything should be known as the Takers. After that strange discussion with him about three years ago, I had always seen life like that. Although, since he died I saw a morbid and twisted version of what he thought. He believed that the Creators make things, and the Takers thought that taking away life from the Creators was what was best for humanity. I agreed, until that night. Now, when I think of life, I think that the Creators just made us so that their best friend, the Takers can mercilessly rip almost every ounce of happiness we have away from us and say it was an accident, for amusement. They could laugh as our souls are being torn out, and replaced with ice. Some people, I think, are lucky enough to forget; ignorance is bliss, and all.
A silent tear fell down my face. Well this is reality, too bad, so sad.
It's short, I know. Sorry. I appreciate any constructive criticisms :)