Bram. wrote:Avenue wrote:Bram. wrote:
They were one of those strange siblings; they looked so alike, yet so different. Maybe it was the fact that the brother of the duo had dark, messy brown hair, while his sister had lucious locks of strawberry blonde.
They were always together. Never apart. They shared the same bedroom at home, were always in the same class. They even sat together and refused to move, to talk to others.
That was, until it happened.
***
I can't go into details, people. It's hard. So, so hard. But you really do want to know, don't you? I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in your body language, the way you subconciously lean forwards, how your fingers stop tapping, how you stare at me.
Fine. I'll tell you. But it isn't one of those stories that warms your heart. This is sad. More than sad, even. I don't have any words to describe it to you.
***
We were, as always, seated next to each other at the back of the science classroom. Our hands occasionally brushed as we copied down the notes from the board on Carboxylic Acids. Here's a picture if you don't know what one is.
I understood it immediately. This was organic chemistry, something I could understand. Unlike my brother. Well, I could always help him with it later, like he helped me with maths. I hated maths. Terrible subject, it was.
The lesson passed quickly, and we moved on to RE. But, as we only had one lesson ever two weeks, we hadn't sat the exam in December, and were working on a project on whatever subject we wanted. We would get a certificate at the end of the course instead of a GCSE grade. I was doing my project on torture and Extraordinary Rendition. Morbid, I know. My brother was focusing on Euthanasia. Yeah, he was morbid too.
The tapping of the keys on the keyboard was soothing and a nice change from having to write out pages and pages with a pen until your wrist ached. Typing was so much easier and quicker. My brother loved it. He wanted a laptop for every lesson, but the school wouldn't let him.
And then we were standing outside in a patch of sunlight, chatting with a packet of crips in our hands after the school bell had gone. We were unaware.
They came up behind him, where I could see them. They were low, and there was about five or six of them. I never counted. I didn't see the need. But one wrapped his arm around my brother's neck, appling pressure so that he couldn't breath. The others began punching him while one held me back. I don't remember what I was saying, but I know that I was fighting to free myself and screaming as I saw him collaspe to the floor as they used their feet as weapons of choice. They smashed his face. Broke his ribs. Factured his skull.
Then they were gone. In the silence that followed, I ran to his side and fell over his body, weeping and still screaming. I could tell by the stillness of his body that he was gone. They'd murdered my brother, and I didn't know why.
***
At the day of the funeral, I stood by his white coffin, holding a small red tulip in my hands. He had always said that when he met the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, he would give her one. It meant undying love.
As the coffin was lowered into the ground, salty tear tracks laced my face and fell onto the ground and the tulip as Because of You played in the background.
I was alone.Bram.
Bram.
Bram.
Honestly.
Why you make me cry? D':Because I am evil. >:D Cry my minion, cry!
I don't know why you cried... xD
Avenue wrote:I cry because it's sad D:
Im not good at sad stories, but here's one i've had in my drafts, and has never been finished, for a long time and I decided to finish it. It's short, but meh.
Ever seen a white rose? We have. I grew them in my own yard, when 2 seeds mixed together in soil and water and created a bush of beautiful white roses that is always bloomed, summer, spring, fall, and winter, and no one- it's illegal here- is allowed to touch them/pick them. If they do, their charged.
I always called you my white rose. Your bright, snow-white fur reminded me of the delicate flower and it's petals. Nothing made me happier than when we were together. People said you were crazy and weird, and said I was crazy and weird for hanging out with you and being best friends with you, and they say,"To love someone like her, they'd outta be crazy."
...Well, if loving you is crazy, then I must be insane.
--
I held a white rose to my chest, clutching it tightly. The rose bush was cut a few days ago, but I had managed to save one single flower. To my surprise, and to my sadness, it was slowly, slowly dying.
I sobbed quietly, standing before the coffin in which your body lay, lifeless. Everyone else was either sitting down, crying very loudly, or talking about how much we all cared for you. I was in front, alone. I was always alone, except when I was with you. I needed to be with you.
I became best friends with you. I started to fall for you. I loved you.
And I was the one who threw it all away.
--
After the funeral ended, I walked home, sobbing with my hands away from my face. I refused to dry my tears.
Nothing could bring you back. Nothing, at all.
I couldn't live without you. I glanced down at the ground as something clicked under my feet. I was now staring at a gun. I had stepped on a gun. How normal is that? I looked around the trees and some corners with the gun in my pocket. I glanced down my pocket and stared at the gun. I thought about it.
I needed to be with you. I needed to finally show my love for you. I needed you, period.
No one was around. I lifted the gun out of my pocket and aimed it at my head. Taking a deep breath, not regretting my descision at all, I pulled the trigger.
Nothing could bring you back down to earth, but you could bring me up to Heaven.
You're returning the favour, aren't you?
I cried.
I truly, honestly, cried.
Which is hard for me when listening to heavy metal.
I cried.
I truly, honestly, cried.
Which is hard for me when listening to heavy metal.
"
I have both of my stories posted 
