Vindictive

Chapter 4: Vulnerability

It was so strange to see the tombstones with the names of my parents.

And it was almost immoral to see one of them, which was dedicated to my little brother.

He looked so innocent: his little body did not fill even half the length of the coffin, and his skin was paler than during his lifetime. Although his face was made up, this was understandable because the freckles on his cheeks were not visible, this did not save the situation too much.

Silence surrounded us when the priest uttered the last word, saluting them.

The gray sky ideally fit in, which was covered with thick, formidable clouds, it was clear that rain would soon pour. It's good that I took an umbrella with me, so, in case of rain. However, all my attention was focused only on the little brother.

My mind was spinning.

I recalled our first meeting when my mother first brought him home. I was so struck by his crystal-blue eyes, and his pink cheeks harmoniously fit into his pretty face, I still remember his smile. His tiny pen was in mine, Chris' fair skin contrasted with my tanned one.

I remembered my mom's excitement when Chris said his first word mom.

I remembered his first steps; a huge smile adorned his face, however, as always, my mother was never so proud and happy before.

I remembered the first time I went with him to kindergarten. I suggested this myself, although this should be more typical for parents. However, Chris was not too shy. He was always eager to meet new people and make new friends. He was a popular boy among peers, so today many boys with their parents attended the funeral.

His short, infantile life flashed before my eyes, and I cried again.

I cried because he would no longer have a chance to grow up.

This chance was selfishly taken from him, snatched from his little hands.

He had to grow up, so why didn't he get this chance?

He has not done anything terrible in his entire life. He was too small to do this.

He was so innocent.

He was so clean.

Then why did God take his life from him?

And why did he take my parents with them? Of course, I still had a grandmother, and I also had an aunt, but she lived in a different state. But I still felt lonely. Abandoned.

I felt that I should be dead with them.

Is that why I stayed alive?

You are alive because you were hiding in the closet like a miserable coward. You let your sibling die.

It could not be said that I thought a little about it, but there were times when for a moment I calmed down. Only three days passed, I still could not take it all calmly. All I heard was my brother's piercing scream, and the lifeless bodies of my parents, covered in their own blood, were always in front of my eyes.

How will I live with this?

I looked down at my brother, carrying his beloved baseball mitten in my arms. Our dad gave it to Chris, they played the ball almost every day, regardless of the weather. Trying to suppress my sobs, I carefully put her in Chris's coffin.

it was paintuitor me to see nim tnere. He snouia not be there. He naa to live. He should not have died.

He must be alive.

I was the one who was supposed to die.

"Let's go," my grandmother whispered, holding me by the shoulders. Her voice sounded soberly, albeit with a broken heart. "We have to go."