• Can you see me?
    Of course not
    I’m not here.
    A memory.
    But I can see you.
    Thought I wouldn’t be able too.
    Why am I here but not there?
    No one will answer.

    Today I went to my own funeral. It was held where I was born, a small hill on the outskirts of town. People from all over the states came. People I hadn’t seen in years. My family walked in and I wanted to shout: I’m here!. Everyone would look in surprise, as I walked into the celebration of my life. But my voice no longer worked.
    If I could cry I would.
    Suicide was instant regret.
    I couldn’t handle his death, now they can’t handle mine. I have ruined their lives, as I have ruined my own.
    I couldn’t hear any of their voices, just murmurs.
    Today I am a watcher.

    I followed her home. She walked into her kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Vodka, and collapsed against her fridge. She looked into the drink for several seconds, and drank. Downed the bottle in a couple minutes. She reached for more. She opened her mouth and uttered something, which i could not hear. Her eyes were as big as the moon, and her tears were like a storm.
    Her name was Abigail.

    The next day, Abigail went to work. The bustle of her workplace was evident to me. I could hear, phones ringing, people shouting, and the sounds of conversation. Noise. She sat down at her cubicle, and was immediately called to speak with the boss. She walked away, and into an elevator, climbing, climbing, climbing to the top floor.
    “I heard.” He said, as she walked out of the elevator. I couldn’t hear her reply. Why can't i hear her? I asked myself.
    “If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.” She smiled, and said something. I’m sure she respectfully declined. She must’ve.
    The rest of the day, I still couldn’t hear a word that Abigail said.

    That night, I drifted away from Abigail, and went to George. He had just gotten home from his job as an Architect. I remember that he wanted to design a 1 story building, with a sideways elevator. I followed him into his room, where he whispered to his wife. She was staring at a page in a photo album. It was one of me. One of me, and George, and his wife… Standing in front of Niagara falls. It had been the been time I’d ever spent with my brother. He joined her on the bed, and similarly stared at the picture. He looked at her, as they carried on a conversation. His wife started crying, as she dug her face into his shoulder. He looked forward, emotionless. It was a disappointed look. Why?! his eyes cried out. I couldn’t hear either of them.

    In the morning George didn't go to work. I followed him to the basement. Blueprints scrawled on paper hung all around the walls. He ripped them from the walls. Stuffed them in a black trash back. And in the back yard of a small house on 38th and Oliver. A fire plumed ferociously. And George sat sobbing next to it. Close enough to feel it's heat overpowering. But not close enough to be burned. I don't blame him. After all, i made him lose two brothers.

    Aiden was a kid who would never give up. He was the pure definition of the word perseverance. He would always finish what he started, whether a drawing, or a huge "paradise" for the dog. He was so innocent, yet understanding. He'd often show us things, trying to tell us that, he could do anything. That dreams did come true. Aiden was always an obedient kid. Until his parents split. At that point Aiden broke. Aiden was also my brother.