I miss you like a little kid

I hate you, for what you did (and i miss you like a little kid)

The old paper crown was wrinkled.

It was no longer the golden colour that once lit up the whole of John Dory's room.

Now it was just a washed out example, matching the old weary walls of the abandoned room.

Branch had stopped going in them when he was 15.

Everything was dusty, dirty, unclean, unused, unwanted and abandoned.

On the good days, they were like him.

On the bad days, they were more.

Pink was Branch's favourite colour. Pink made his heart soar and stomach flutter. Pink made him smile and laugh and love and live.

But pink also made him sad. Pink made him weary.

Pink made him reach his little hand out, hoping that they would reach out back instead of walking out that door.

Pink made him think 'see you later' was a promise.

Pink broke his heart.

Singing used to be fun.

Now it was a competition.

Maybe if Branch learned to sing better, his brothers' would come back?

Maybe if he was able to accept the perfect family harmony, his brothers' wouldn't hate him anymore?

Branch would get better.

Anything to see them again.

The bunker would be for us.

Six rooms, one for each of his brothers and one for Grandma Rosiepuff.

A shared kitchen, cupboards stocked up with favourite foods.

A small separate cabinet for Floyd's herbal teas, and John Dory's coffee.

And lots and lots of jelly.

The living room would be full with coloured cushions and pictures and a waterslide connecting to a huge pool outside their door.

Stars would hang on the ceiling and there would be bookshelves piled up with stories, so Branch never had to hear a story repeated at his bedtime.

The bunker was for us.

Under construction, dirty tired hands and an exhilarated smile.

There were six rooms, a shared kitchen and cupboards stocked up with favourite foods, that Branch would eat all by himself then get more.

A small separate cabinet for Floyd's herbal teas, and John Dory's coffee that made the whole room smell like flowers and caffeine.

And lots and lots of jelly.

The living room had colourful cushions and pictures.

Branch was still working on the waterslide.

Bookshelves had books that stocked endlessly, a gift from King Peppy and Grandma.

The stars would shine through the canopy above, and Branch would smile.

The bunker was for him.

Five empty dusty rooms. One kitchen for him. Cupboards stocked up on the foods he could tolerate. A small separate cabinet still full of the unused moldy herbal teabags and coffee, that stopped smelling when he stopped caring.

There was no jelly.

The living room was plain and dull, the colours of the cushions washed out with time.