Past life

Six Feet Under

The first gun shot was but a mere echo, the second was a distant cry, the third was like a wrecking ball.

I will never forget, her majestic presence, or beautiful dark hair. Her contagious laugh, and mesmerizing eyes, the way she danced in the sand that day in the dark cool beach, or even when she would pick up the mail then drive us to school. Her hands, they were so soft, I only just realized how nice they were to hold, on a rainy day, or a sunny afternoon. She was so approachable, and funny and caring, I could talk to her for hours, about the most private or random things, we could start a long conversation about anything. And her confidence, I have never met someone so graceful and sweet, but at the same time straight forward and strict, she always held her head up high, even in horrible moments. I won't pretend I've never seen her cry, I have, in private, but those tears never made her, not even for a second, weak. She was so gorgeous, her lips were full as well as her cheeks, but in a cute and regal sort of way, her smile could heal any wound.

The room was so silent, I would have thought people would be crying by now, everyone loved her, why aren't they sadder. Did they ever really care about her? I know why I'm not crying, I promised her I would be strong, I had to be, I had to put up a brave face in front of everyone else, I couldn't make a scene or draw anymore attention to myself, I hated when people stared at me, I also had a problem with showing public emotions. I could cry in my room for hours by myself, but in front of others, I would just pretend like I was going to go back home to her warm smile and arms, it was the only thing that could keep me on my feet.

My twin brother wrapped his hands around me, as he put his face in my hair, probably to hide his tears also, he wasn't as good as I was at concealing his real feelings, even on a normal day, he literally has no filter. My dad, he was already known to be cold and heartless, but like all men, he had on weakness, who just so happen to be his greatest strength, but she wasn't here anymore, he still had us, but we weren't enough to keep him from drowning, and now his gone to far under for us to save.

In the sixteen years I had known him, he had never once laid a finger on my or my brother, he might have been a cruel drug lord, but he was an amazing father.

Until she was gone, then everything went to shit. He was drinking, more than usual, he was constantly drunk, if it wasn't alcohol, it was drugs, every kind, I was scared for his life, he had an orange pill bottle he kept on her side the bed, I was trying to help him, I couldn't lose anyone else, so I trashed it all down the garbage disposal while he was out.

I don't know how he knew it was me, maybe it was the guilty look a relief when I found out that he didn't have another shipment of those specific drugs coming until the next two weeks, but when he saw me, he slapped me, with so much force and anger, but also sadness and guilt, but then he did it again, and any sympathy I felt for him faded, it was as if hitting him helped him forget why he even took the drugs in the first place, he hit me until I bled, then my brother just got back home.

He jumped right in the middle of the fight, my did was a really tall, big and muscular guy, he was scary, but also fun looking, he had a stubble beard and a one-eighty waves haircut, my brother was muscular to, but not really big, he had a much leaner body, and wasn't strong enough to take on my dad in a fight, but he still tried.

My dad forcefully and instantly pushed him to the ground when he tried to stand in front of me to defend me. My dad, now blinded by rage, turned to my brother to give him some matching bruises with myself, I quickly gathered up what little strength I had left to give him a pathetic little shove.

With his nostrils flaring, he turned back to me, I covered my face ready for impact, then he dropped to his knees in sobs, his eyes turned red as he cried and screamed out her name, that is when the realization hit, no matter how many drinks and pills he had, no matter how many times to hit and insulted us, that feeling of emptiness and sadness would soon come rushing right back in, with an even stronger and deadlier force than before.