Tales of Sorrow
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A TV Show based narrative about those who have suffered the most and lived to tell about it.
"Family. It will always be the most precious thing to have. And yet, we don't realize this until we lose it." ~Alex Reigner
Hello. You may not know me, or even want to know me, but I'm Alex Reigner. I am an eighteen-year-old man, living alone in New York and I'm about to start college. Recently, I have become the only one of my family to live. I may not sound it, but I am happy to be in a new place. A place where my past wasn't the thing that everyone laughed at, and teased. But let me explain to you why I am the only survivor.
Long ago, I was a loner. The kid that always kept to himself, and never really talked to anyone. Yet, I did not care back then. School to me, was just as useless as most things that are created in this world. Most of the knowledge that we need, we learned early, and all we do is revamp it continuously. I would always watch the other kids having fun and all, while sitting in a tree. No teacher bothered with me, so I was pretty much left alone during recess. Truth be told, those teachers didn't even care about me. But, I can't venture to far from my tale.
One school year, everything went bad. Seventh grade at Quincy Middle School was never easy. Always under the eighth graders, but over the other students. Yet, I would never "rank" above the lower students, because I could never match them in social skills and such. That was the year that I had my first friend, though. Their name, Matt Baulky. He was a semi-new student, and didn't know that I was the school outcast. So we became friends and spent time together a lot.
However, not everything was as it seemed. When I thought I had a friend, I was being tricked. I learned later that the other kids set me up for a big letdown, and a huge joke. Matt had some knowledge about me that only the students who were at the school for a few years knew, which did make me wonder, but I never thought for a second that this was fake. He asked about the school, and I showed him around.
Being the naive bot that I was, I left myself open to another person. He seemed like a nice person. Not like the other students who always made fun of me. Telling him stuff that I never told others, including who I liked, I spilt my soul to him. However, what I was saying to him, got out, and I began to wonder. I continued to suspect that one of the guys who jeered at me, was listening to me and telling it to the school. Then I told Matt my deepest secret, which was the fact that I never had a mother. She had died when I was but two, after giving birth to Maxwell, my younger brother.
My father didn't remarry after her death, and since then, I had been raising my brother and myself, for my father was an alcoholic. This I had told him in confidence in his house when I went over one day. When the following school day came by, I was being ragged on by teachers about my family, and students who made fun of them. That was when I knew that Matt was the one who was telling what I was telling him. Later that day, during recess, I went into the tree that I used to sit in, and hid. I didn't care when the bell rang to continue school, and stayed outside.
I had been balling my eyes out, because I was tricked. Decieved once more by the "popular group" and laughed at because of it. I couldn't believe I was such a fool to have done that. Walking home, so that I didn't have to deal with the kids on the bus, I arrived near seven o' clock, and my father was not home. I knew he was out drinking, which was his usual habit. My brother had been home alone for about three hours, because he took the bus.
Entering the living room, I noticed he had a black eye. I went over to him and asked why. He told me that the kids at school had called him a weakling because of his father. Cursing silently under my breathe, I went to the bathroom and got some cream to get the swolleness down. I tried to comfort him, by saying that I would take him out for ice cream the next day, but he cried into my shoulders. Continuing to ask why this was happening to him, his sobs drowned out the rain that had recently started to fall. You see, he was like me, only Max had two friends. They were inseperable until today.
After being bullied and punched because they associated with Max, his buds left him. Now he was like me, alone and despised. He cried himself to sleep that night, as I watched television in the living room. My father came home near eleven, and stumbled to his room, to sleep. I didn't care though. I didn't care because my brother had it now worse that me. He had been abandoned because of me. I caused him to have this pain. I fell asleep on the couch soon after midnight, and woke up at six. I tried to wake up Max, but he wouldn't get up, so I brought him to his room. He was in fourth grade, so I could help him with whatever he missed today.
I got dressed and decided to wait for the bus. Knowing that I would be teased at, I just sat there with headphones on. Yet, one of the kids ripped them off, and tossed them out the window. Screaming something about buying a new pair and then laughing, the kid went back to his seat. Now with nothing to listen to, I sat in the seat, staring out the window. Arriving at school, I ran to the office to tell them that my brother wouldn't be coming into school today, and that I would collect his homework for him. They half-smiled, and began to whisper amoungst themselves, as I left the office.
The day went by slowly, and what a day it was. Being beaten up by eighth graders for being so different from them, I just wanted to cry. I went to the office during recess to get Max's papers, and told them I would leave early for personal reasons. Luckily my father had given them a letter when he was sober saying that I could leave to check up on my brother, and I would make up the work later. Leaving the school, I walked home, but stopped to take a cab. I didn't care what it cost, because I wanted to make sure my brother was alright.
Yet when I got close to my house, I started to see black smoke billow out. Thinking it might be one of the neighbors having a barbaque, I didn't let it sink in, until I arrived home to see part of the house burning. Going to the door, I tried to enter it. However, I burnt my hand in the process. The embers licked at the sides of the building, as the fire engulfed it all. I ran to wake up one of the neighbors, for they were mostly third-shift workers who were at home at the moment, and told them to call the fire department.
Fifteen minutes later, the trucks came to put the fire out, however it was too late. It seemed that the fire started at the only entrance to the house, and all the windows were bolted closed, so my brother couldn't escape. When the last drops of water came out of the hoses, and the charred remains of my house were left, a tear dropped from my face. Falling to my knees and holding my face in my hands, I began to sob.
After the medics combed the place, they found two bodies. One of a child and the other of an adult, both male. My father had come home early, and started to cook something on the stove. But with his usual practices, he took out a bottle of whiskey and downed it. Collapsing onto the table, he left the stove unmanned, and the fire started from there and spread to the living room, blocking the door. Max had been sleeping in his room, unaware of the fire, and died.
My next-door neighbor felt sorry for me, and let me stay at her house, so that I could regroup and maybe get myself ready for graduation, which was a year away. I decided not to go back to school for a month, to try and cope with losing my father, and my only friend, my brother. Cindy, my neighbor, had told me something in that month span. My mother had taken out life insurence policies on all of us, and I had enough money to get into college.
I smiled weakly at that, then went back to crying again. When I did return to school, everyone came to me and wondered what had happened. Even the kids who made fun at me wondered how I could go back to school when my family perished. I told them to mind their businesses, and leave me alone, for I just want to finish school. It was the only thing that let me get through everything. I had a goal. Something to live for so that I wouldn't kill myself.
I have to admit, that was my worst time. I was depressed all eighth grade, and pretty much left alone. Although, they did try to make me go to a therapist, until I told them that if I would revisit the thoughts before I had gotten myself into a normal condition that I wouldn't kill myself when hearing about my brother and father. Graduation went off without a hitch, and I graduated near the top of my class. I may had been a weirdo and a loner, but I was good at my grades.
After that, I thanked Cindy, and moved to New York to attend college. I needed to get my mind off my family for a little while, so a change in scenery did help. Though it still pains me to think of that time, I can now without worry that I would slip into depression. It may have taken six years, but now I can be at peace with myself. Yet, I continue to blame myself for Max's death, because if I would have woken him up that morning and got him to school, he wouldn't have died. The past is the past though.
"Now for your local weather, sponcered by Splammo! The drink you can't get enough of."
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