Mindless

I stared blankly out the dirt-covered window of our suburban as my dad drove me home. 
It had been three weeks since I had left home and now it was time to come back; and I hadn't uttered a word since he had picked me up. 
“Heather...” My dad began as he turned down another road. “How are you?” A simple question and yet I couldn't seem to answer it. I felt all the words balling up in my throat, forcing the anger to stay down. 
I didn't feel good, I felt mad. Hate, anger, resentment, everything. Everything except for love. I hated my family; they didn't help me at all. 
I had spent countless days in therapy for an accident that happened seven months ago. 
My parents became worried the few days after the accident when I completely stopped talking, and letting my emotions build up. 
You see? The thing is is that I hadn't said anything to anyone in a long, long time, though I would talk to myself a lot and keep my thoughts to myself. 

It's like they don't get it- 

I had a habit of writing my feelings in a journal too, and the counselor thought that was a great idea...though I never shared my feelings with her at all about it. 

They don't want to get it- 

Though, the accident wasn't no accident...I had seen my older brother get murdered seven months ago when my parents were out of town. 
The murderer came into our house in the middle of the night and my brother told me to stay in my room as he went downstairs to check what was going on. 
So I stayed, and then I heard gunshots, screaming and laughing. I got scared and I went to the top of the stairs -though stayed hidden- and all I saw was blood...lots, and lots...of blood. 
It was splattered on the wall, the window, and on the floor...which led to my brother who lay on the floor, lifeless. 
I tried not to scream, and I didn't, though I did cry as I ran to my room, closing the door. 
He was gone and I didn't do anything to save him, and now I have this massive guilt inside of me that keeps throwing me over the edge. 

I want...to die... 

My parents freaked out the most when I started getting suicidal. They kept reassuring me that his death was not my fault and even if I thought I could do something, I couldn't. And it didn't make me feel any better, so they sent me to a psychiatric home to stay in for a few days to try and forget about everything that had happened...to...to refresh my mind and let everything go. 
I hate them for that. 
It was bad enough I had to suffer the guilt and the grief, but really? Putting me away somewhere with nurses and doctors who try to 'help make you feel better and to see a different part of your life'? Seriously? Come on... 
My dad pulled up to our house; which was a quaint, small white house with a semi-mowed lawn. 
I got out of the suburban and took a deep breath as I looked around. It had rained since the grass was wet and it smelled of water...my favorite scent. 
I walked towards the door and looked around, swallowing hard. I never felt comfortable coming home, and I especially never felt comfortable in the kitchen where my brother got murdered. 
“Welcome home!” My mom called as she ran out the front door, grabbing me and giving me a big hug which instantly threw me in a bad mood. 
I glared a little and stood there still while she went on and on. “How are you? Are you okay? How are you feeling? Are you hungry?” 
I grit my teeth and leaned back, staring blankly at her with an expression that said: “No. Leave me alone.” I saw her smile fade a little and she let go of me. “Okay...do you just want to go to your room...?” I nodded and sighed, holding onto my backpack. Three weeks of barely any privacy...I would LOVE to go to my room. 
I dragged my feet all the way up the stairs and to my room, throwing my backpack on the bed, falling with it. I stared at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on my ceiling and smiled a little, remembering when my brother and I put them up. 
“Ryan...?” I whispered. “I miss you...” I sat up and stared at the dozens of pictures of us together, our arms wrapped around each other. 
Tears welled up in my eyes and I tried to fight the urge to cry but it didn't help, I broke down and put my pillow to my face as I cried hard. 
I missed him so much, so much that it hurt so badly. 
I breathed fast from crying so much and I lay on my side, clinging to my blankets and pillows. 

I need you back, Ryan...I need you... 

My fingers were shaking as I grabbed the pen from my journal and tried to write as I lay there. 

I know you said you would always be in my heart long before you died but I don't feel you, Ryan! 
I can't feel you and I don't think I ever will... 

Tears splattered on the page and I sniffed, wiping them off. I smiled a little and looked at the little picture of Ryan and I together next to the Christmas tree that I put in my journal as a book mark. 
I stroked his face with my index finger and swallowed hard. 
“I love you...” 

And although I did one day begin talking again, I still felt that emptiness in my heart that would never again be fixed. I got over the death and moved on with my life, but I'll still remember him as my loving, big brother that wanted to protect me from everything. 
And I will always...always...love him. 

Author's Note

This is my first short story I ever did...sooo....please read, and critique, I would like to try and work at getting better at my writing. :D

Reviews

[deeps]

I really enjoyed this it held it's subject all the way through. Suspense and drama through this write. I thought it was very well written.

[Impulse]

Pretty amazing for your first story. Structure was great and I could feel the emotion that the characters were experiencing. A great read. If you want to take it further turn this into a book and create some chapters, I'd be happy to read it. Excellent 10/10

[Onatah]

I like it. Very emotional. It's entirely dark and depressing, truly showing the disturbed mind. I once spent a while in a mental hospital and I remember feeling the same way.