Not about MCR but it is inspired by some of their songs and one Green Day song and I want some people to read it so I can get some honest opinions on it.
So I stand alone in the packed train station like some classic Green Day song as I ignore the continual warning to stand behind the yellow line. I'm not the only one doing it though. There are some impatient people who think crowding the line will make the train come faster. I assume I'm the only one who is staring at the tracks, however, and thinking about how easy it would be to jump toward them as the next train pulled in, ending as a fly on its windshield.
There is always the chance that there are others who are thinking the same thing. All they want to do is get their unsatisfying life over and done with so they can move on to the unknown, praying for it to be better. Like me. I wouldn't mind the company. I never was too great at doing things on my own. From my first heart beat to his last breath I had never been alone. I had always had my brother with me to help me with anything and to celebrate everything.
That's all different now. No more comfort when I cry. No one to tell my deepest secrets to. No one to rejoice with me when something good finally happened. He was always the strong one but when he was weak and needed my help I turned my back on him because I couldn't handle a little pain.
All he ever needed from me, although he kept refusing to take from me, was some bone marrow. I was very willing to give anything to my brother until I found out it would hurt. I was so terrified that even looking at my brother would make me quiver with fear. He told me over and over that it was okay and he was sure to get another donor soon. My parents were mad and would tell me that I was a useless waste of space if I wouldn't even share my lowly marrow with my angelic brother. Their precious baby boy.
I took the abuse from my parents never telling Andrew and prayed for him to get better to whatever higher power I could google. On our 14th birthday I went to his hospital room to celebrate. We ate cake and laughed and he looked like he was actually getting better. The best he had in years. He wasn't better though. In fact he was much,much worse. That night as I snuggled up in his bed with him, talking until we both slipped to sleep. In the morning though, I was the only one who woke up.
Now I avoid my house like its the plague. All those who knew my brother refuse to look at me, too brokenhearted by what I caused. Heck I hate to look at myself.
Too disgusted with what I did to my family I wander the streets, only returning to that house when I need something or my friends won't put me up anymore. Mostly though I spend my days working to become a doctor to save others like my brother, hoping in some way I can make it up to the universe. Most of my nights I sit blankly staring at my brothers grave and huddle close to it in a vain attempt to get some of the warmth that I have been lacking since that day.
"Please stand back. The next train is approaching the station," screeches the overhead speaker, dragging me from my woeful memories to the harsh present.
When the train came in to view, without a second thought I stuck my foot over the edge and tried to step in front of it. Seconds before I collided with the train, ending my lonely existence, a hand wrapped its way around my arm and yanked me back to safety.
"Geez kid. Watch out. You could have killed yourself," a middle-aged man in a business suit says to me before muttering "kids these days. So reckless," and stumbling on the train.
I wanted to yell "that's what I wanted" after him but thought better of it and instead quietly shuffled on to the train riding it until it reached the stop closest to the graveyard where my brother eternally slept.
I wander in the ever growing darkness around me till I reach the nameless graveyard. The gates creek open as I push my way in. Eventually I find myself seated at the tombstone of my brother. I pull out my notebook intending to do homework but I get lost in my thoughts that I don't really know what my hands are doing.
When I come back from my escape I behold a wounderful picture on my paper. If I had any artistic talent this would be of no surprise but he was always the one with that gift. I was clumsy and nothing ever came out right when I drew.
The drawing was of the tree in front of me that I had planted the day that he was burried. It grew big and strong as I imagine he would had I not killed him. It was done in subtle, intricate detail. This included the face of a young boy looking straight out sitting at the top of the tree. He seemed to come straight out of the page and looking right at me. It sent chills down my spine. At the base of the tree sat a sad looking girl in the lap of a rough looking woman. They were both me. The me from when he died and the me now.
On a strange impulse I looked up to the spot where the boy sat in my drawing. To my surprise there he sat. My brother. Not a second older than the last moment I saw him. It was not long that he was there but I saw him and he spoke to me.
"I forgive you. Now you must forgive yourself."
Then he was gone in a flash. As the ghost he surely was. But his words lingered. I felt them deep in my soul. They struck a cord with my very being. They warmed my heart and soul. I felt lighter.
He was with me. Now and always. I could move on now. It was all I had ever wanted to know. I was at peace as I hoped he now was.
I would really appreciate any comments on it.
- :D Nicky