Shadow and The Outlaws (On Hold)

Chapter VI

"Now my feet won't touch the ground."
Coldplay, Life in Technicolor

Everyone has a light in their life. That one person in their worthless existence who completes them, compels them. I didn't know who mine was, for some time.

My mother was an amazing woman. She was assertive, stubborn, easily angered, but she was still amazing. I thought she was strong.
Turns out I was wrong. I discovered that, when I found her with a rope around her neck, she'd been dead for a couple of hours.
This is what I mean. I can't feel anything, at least it seems like that. I hold them in instead, it's easy. Well, for me.

But back on subject.

I thought that I had a light. But I didn't know who it was. There was this great big gap in my memory, as if I knew something had been there, and it had been forcefully removed.
I knew exactly who had removed it. Dad. Who else? The emotion of love would contaminate his precious daughter, spoil his little puppet.
I only remembered who that light was, when I received my indentification from Arkham Asylum. One name on there confused me. Who on Earth, was Alex Robert Brookston?

Then I remembered. My autistic cousin, who had been more of a little brother to me. The son of my father's brother, Chris Brookston.
His scruffy blond hair, and his Pacific ocean blue eyes, his carefree nature.

He had problems speaking, and until he was four, he had terrible anger issues, and would usually end up throwing things. But as he progressed, he'd turn out to be my pride and joy. I loved him, and I knew for a fact, that he loved me. Whenever I'd see him, which was once a week, he'd bring a picture, which was usually inscribed with my name on it. Then we'd spend time drawing together.

When I was ten, my father decided I was getting weak. So after a swindle, he bagged a mind wiping machine, and took everything about Alex away from me. Then he made sure I would never see him again. To this day, I have no idea where Alex is. If I knew for a fact he were alive, he'd be twelve.

Alex loved transports. He liked trains and buses, but his favorite was the aeroplane. When I have good dreams, which is rarely, I can see him, running around with the toy helicopter I got for his birthday.

He will call out, "Fly, fly," and laugh at the dinky piece of plastic held in his tiny hand. I will sit down, and watch him stumble around.

I will watch him run, and run, and run, until he disappears into the distance.