Remembering Billie

Two Weeks After... [Casper's P.O.V.]

I thought that the meds would've started working now. But I only feel far worse than before. Maybe its my fault. That I drink too much, smoke too much, don't sleep enough. Maybe that's why I feel like shit 24/7. Mum says it's going to get better. That I have to give it time. But I'm not so sure. She doesn't know I smoke, or drink. She just assumes that I do nothing all day. I've been playing my guitar most of the time, lately, and no one seems to mind. It keeps me sane, stops me from thinking too much about the stupid thoughts that lead me to do stupid things like killing myself. Not that that's a stupid idea, killing yourself isn't a stupid idea, it's just not a great idea. But I guess when you feel like death is your only option, then its up to you.

I was starting to become bored. Of sitting here, of homework, of my guitar, my books, my music. So thinking of nothing better to do, I climbed up into the attic. The room is dark and fuzzy; the only light ordained from the small, crooked window which is half covered by a stack of moth eaten books in the corner of the room. Wooden floorboards creak under my footsteps as I shuffle over to look in boxes of old stuff my family has hoarded for years and years. I felt like an intruder to the past. Out of my peripheral vision, I catch sight of a box labeled; "Father". Father could mean lots of things, I know that. It could be my father, my mum's father, my dad's father.. I carefully open the lid to the box and find a photograph of my grandpa inside. It's old and crinkled, black and white in colour. He used to be a journalist. He'd travel over the world documenting wars and disasters. He was pretty cool, to be honest. I always looked up to him and wanted to be as awesome as he was. I used to listen to him on the old radio. We'd connect to a news channel and somehow, his voice would appear and I'd listen to the droning of his voice as he was off somewhere magical like the Caribbeans or Southern France. Long after he died, they played his documentaries and I'd listen to them before I went to bed. One night, I forgot to, and then suddenly, somehow, I just never remembered. My parents took away the old radio and I'd never seen it again. Until now. It's a small, abstract looking dinosaur compared to today's technology. With a mic in place and buttons all over the place, my heart races with excitement. I pick up all of the gear I can see and take it to my room. This will become my project. So I don't contract boredom, so I don't listen to the hungry thoughts.

Dinner arrives too quickly, and I hurriedly race down stairs to eat, so I can get back to work again. "Hi, Casper!" A new voice has arrived at the table. I look up and see Cherry. Her face smiley and happy, and mine, not. "Hi." I say through gritted teeth. I sit down at the table and start to pick at my spinach and mushroom tortellini pasta. Mum clears her throat,"Cherry hasn't seen you for a while so we figured we would invite her over for dinner." I growl at my plate, "Cool, awesome, fantastic." Cherry flicks me a sympathetic glance, I shrug it off. Dinner is filled with odd silence. My stomach heaves with nerves. Finally, everyone finishes and Cherry takes me off to the living room like usual. "I'm sorry." She says as soon as we sit down. "I didn't mean to upset you, I promise." There's no telling I feel like shit, but she's trying and I can't run from her forever. I nod my head and accept her apology. From there, we start coming up with ways on how to control my anger. I can't think of anything, and its a frustrating process. Cherry sighs loudly and we sit in silence with nothing to say. Finally, she clicks her fingers. "Humour." She says, her mouth a wide toothy grin. "Whenever you feel angry at someone, I want you to use a joke to ease the tension. Not a mean insult, but a joke. To make them laugh, and yourself." I give her a small smile, "Yeah that could work." "And I know this isn't convenient, but exercise is a great one." I tell her yes, that isn't convenient. But she tells me to give it time. She'll get me out of the house. Somehow. I bid my goodbyes to Cherry after that, thank her for coming and also apologize for being a cock head. She laughs and hugs me. I let her, it's the least I can do.

I set back to work on getting the radio to work. As a child, I loved experimenting. I loved to pull apart phones, TVs and computers and figure out how they work. It was therapeutic, a way of getting the anger out somehow. I fiddle around with the wires, slotting them into places, finding patterns and connections. Before long, I have it working. I sit down on my swivel chair and place the mic to my mouth. I press a few buttons and speak, very clearly, very loudly,

"Hello, can anyone hear me?"

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Hi guys! Don't forget to leave a vote on the story if you liked it! Sorry it's so short, I'm working on other plot ideas and that's taking up a bit of my time.

-Venus