Oneshot. ----- "I was born from Nothingness, therefore I am Nothing. I hold no value in Life and is neutral with everything around me" - Poet Nothing. There can't be nothing, surely. It's the absence of something, not... nothing. Like we call the absence of light, dark. But there is no dark. Same goes with heat. The absence of heat is called cold, but there is no cold. So... What am I? ---- It was another day, waking up, sitting down, sleeping. It became a routine, really, doing something as incoherent as this. The sudden feel of my phone vibrating made me feel around in my pockets. I grabbed my phone out and searched through the messages before a text in bold letters shot through the screen and bounced right in front of my color blind eyes. That's right, I'm color blind. I see the world in black and white and grey. In rare cases however, I see nothing. A transparent white spot in the middle of nowhere. I blink once and it's gone. I'm unable to grab it for just a moment, it just flies away. The text that stood out was from my superior at work. "Hurry up with those drawings, Bud, or else I'll cut your salary back by a third!" His sense of humor is as dry as a soaked up lemon, whilst my sense of humor is just... dead. As dead as the cemetary beyong the city limits, in the suburbs where dust bunnies circle around me as if they wanted me to join their dance. A dance you say? Yes. Exactly. A dance. The dance of the dead, something macabre yet so inspirational. I was an artist, who used black and white paint and a swish of grey. I always headed to the graveyard to draw. Like I said, it was an inspiration for me to keep on living. As crude as it seems, I couldn't wait to be buried there. I wanted to be... attached to it. All bonds with me and my family have been severed due to my parent's deaths. My siblings left to fend for themselves, and my only older brother died from an accident. I went to his funeral. I wore the black tuxedo father left me, it was the only black thing I owned. I knew it was black, thanks to the label attached to the hanger when I grabbed it. I envied him, really. When the casket was lowered down into the ground, I glared at my own feet before looking up again. The priest had concluded his speech before walking over to me, sympathetically putting a hand on my shoulder as he told me my brother would be in a better place. What place would a drug dealer be in? Ideally, it would be hell. In this case, however, he would be in the cemetary. In many perspectives, it would be considered a second hell. To me, it was a second Heaven. It wasn't a Utopia, however. It was more like a step above purgatory, a sacred sanctuary where the only... things, that watched me paint a tombstone were the dead trees. I walked home back then. My siblings didn't bother to call. My sister would probably be doing her nightshift at the bar. I wonder how much she got from the overnights, where she slept with men. What about my poor brother, who lives in an asylum? Diagonised with Fragile X, AKA mental retardation as you would rudely put it. I care for him dearly, and I believe he knows who I am inside his heart. It was thanks to the drugs my mom took when she was pregnant, and my brother's illness was moderately severe like the psychologist told me. They wouldn't do anything to help him, not that there's a cure for him anyways. They'd just make him go even more insane, of course, I wouldn't mind being trapped in a illusional world where false hopes enlighten me. It would be a miracle if that ever happened. Instead, I'm stuck with a canvas and a paintbrush, painting reality as I grasp it in my hands. I've always wanted to paint fantasy. Realism is so drab. Even if I manage to catch a glimpse of the inspirational illusion, it melts away like quicksilver when I grab it. Right now, the phone is in my hands and I feel drained of all my energy just thinking about it. Depressing to me, the thought of not dying until I turn old or kill myself. Wouldn't I go to hell if I commit suicide? As tempting as it seems, I'm religious. Out of six people in my family, three of us are actually saints compated to the rest of the family tree. My brothers and I were innocent, compared to my drug dealing father, my mom obsessed and addicted to drugs, and my sister who was a skank. No matter what the physician says about my brother being a bit savage during his tests, he was innocent in my eyes. Would you call a child trapped in a world of monstrosity evil? He was only 11. As I, was 27. My birthday would be on the 23rd of May, which I detest strongly. It always seems to rain. During my birthday, I'd just grab my umbrella and walk right out of the house. I would always take a long walk, down the park and into the suburbs of this so-called city. The attractions were losing its vividness and the stale food they serve here makes my touge go numb. I couldn't blame the restaurants here though. They seem to lost the inspiration to cook. Just as I have lost my reason to live. I've thought jumping off a building, the thrill of dying and the aur clinging onto my shoulders is exciting. But what frustrates me is that I'm religious, like I said before. I was a Christian, actually. My sister vowed to be Catholic, but due to her obsession with love, she threw away that promise and tried to satisfy her undying needs of a companion, whether faithful or not. I would call her desperate, but that wouldn't be fair, would it? My birthday would be later tonight at midnight. I was the second eldest of the family, born in the days BEFORE my mother started doing drugs. She was in alcohol, though. My late aunt used to lock her beer and wine away inside the storage closet for nine months. It drive my mother insane. Back then, my older brother used to tell me tales of how sincere mother was before she became a junkie. It was hard to believe it, but my brother loved her dearly. He was such a fan of quotes, and it brought meaning to "If you can't beat them, join them". My brother had always detested drugs. If it weren't for my father and his dirty tricks and tactics, my brother would've been a successful businessman. But no. My father had him bring drugs to the alleyway, unfortunately for us, he was naïve. When the wad of cash appeared in his face, he hoped to send my mother to an institute to help her get rid of her addiction to heroin and cocaine. My father, who was annoyed by the idea, said no. Imagine that. My father sold drugs to my mother, which got her pumping her veins as she sniffed the white powder before craving it more. Later in the month, my father had sent him to a gang, hoping to wipe him out of the house. It was successful, though. A successful failure if I might add. He got shot in the heart, it was a setup afterall. A scheme to drag my dad out and demand the money he owed them. He was in debt. Both of them got killed in this little crossfire and I only smiled to myself when the news came. I smiled wryly. I regret not giving my brother a hug. I regret not spending time with him. As I said, we were innocent. But now that he's dead, there's three of us left. Put aside the sentimental crap, I decided to take a walk to the cemetary as an early birthday present. I grabbed my umbrella, coat and suitcase before striding out into the open. ---- I knelt down under my brother's tombstone before shedding a tear for him, smiling inwardly as the drop hit the ground like a pin in an enpty room. I took a look around the cemetary before glancing back at the tombstone, putting the flowers down. I grabbed my suitcase and pulled out a sketchbook, drawing the cemetary. Finally. Something I loved. ----- My superiors and colleauges had congratulated me before my boss slapped me on the back. "Son, that was a beautiful masterpiece! Will I expect to see more in the future?" I would've answered yes and be rewarded with a promotion. But, I didn't say anything. I only smiled before shaking my head. Everybody around me became silent before I opened my mouth to speak. "I'm sorry, boss. I'm resigning. I have some urgent business to do and I'm afraid I won't have time to paint anything. Please don't be offended, I love this job." A complete lie. "... I see. Well then, your final pay will be in your mailbox this evening when you get home. I hope you can finish this business of yours and come back." Unlikely, boss. "Thank you." I walked out of the building with the stares of my peers following me. The moment I spent yesterday got me thinking. I realized how dear my family was. ---- I had received a letter yesterday, my sister had an STD and my brother got shot down. Two tragedies at once, eh? I paid no attention to that. I only grabbed te cheque and drove down the street to the city, where homeless people lived. I walked over to a woman with her children, they were skinny as hell. "Here madame. I don't need this. Please use this money to take care of your children. It's enough to buy a small apartment." I turned away, not listening to the woman's mumbled thank you, nor the children's chorused chirping. It was so in sync, and I smiled inside. ---- The letter I recieved was burning inside the fire. I breathed in before taking a handful of sleeping pills, plopping them into my mouth and swallowing a huge amount of water. If these won't kill me, I don't know what will. A peaceful departure, something no ody in my family achieved. I wanted peace. ... I wanted to be buried in the old cemetary in the outskirts of the city. I want to be with my family. ---- Oneshot for MommaPie's contest in PiMD :0 I've posted this in GaW, PiMD, and well, KaW. No PaW for me, or FC as you would put it. .-.
Hunter, I'm Chloe. I came from PiMD. Like I said, MommaPie's contest in fanfic there. I can't just copy and paste from the actual thread, that's plagirism and I'm against it.