The Valiant Sea

He's Gone

Note:
Firstly, I would like to thank anyone who has given this book a chance and gives it a read.
Secondly, I would just like to let you know that I plan to finish this book. I'm not sure when I'll get the chance, but after I graduate I'll have much more time to write. I do in fact have an image for the end of this novel.
Thirdly, I would like to mention that I'm going through a process of editing and changing several aspects of this book. Majority of this novel was written by a younger less coherent writer than I am now, so I'll be working on improving that. So if a chapter says needed to be edited then it will have a high chance of being changed around.
Sorry if this annoying. But if you could work with me, I would love that. I really would like to share this story with people.
Thank you again.
Love Ellen

Chapter 1: He's Gone

The sea is arguably the most beautiful entity in the entire world.

Today there is a still mist rising from its blue-green depths, which clings to the skin of my face as if in love. There is a patent taste of salt encrusted on my chapped but moist lips. I cannot tell if the salt taste originates from the mist emanating from the ocean or from the tears currently streaming from my raw eyes.

As they trail steadily down my face and drop to the ground from my chin, my tears engrave intricate and intriguing patterns. I don't care how much I cry, or what I look like. I don't care about much right now. I just stare out at the turquoise sea, darker without the presence of the sun, but still is, in my opinion, the most beautiful thing in the entire world.

I don't know how anyone is meant to accept or deal with his or her brother's death. Or to be honest, deal with anyone's death. One minute they are there, breathing and conscious, the next thing you know it, they are not. They are gone, unconscious, and never to be returned again. At least, that is my experience of death in this moment.

Its not something you are prepared for, its not something you can be taught, really. It has never happened to me before. I haven't lost anyone. No one I've ever loved has died. So to be quite honest with you, reader, I have no idea what I am meant to do about it...or about anything. I suppose, its just one more thing I have to deal with...

It's like saying a limb has been taken from you and you will never get it back. At least that's what it felt like when my mother told me my brother, Michael, was killed.

Honestly, I don't quite believe that he could be gone.

When mother told me that, and I quote: "our dear Michael" was "know longer in this world", I didn't quite get it, I thought she was telling me one of her usual tongue of ridiculous riddles, but when I looked up and saw her sob into her hand I realised that it was no riddle. That this was real.

And instead of being mature and rational about it, or asking any questions about what or how it had happened...I just ran...As fast as I could muster in my state of being.

I ran.

I ran trying to get away from the fear that this was real. I ran away from the pain at the thought that Michael was never coming home. I ran away from being at my sorry excuse of a house. I ran away from my parents, my mothers sorrowful face.

I was searching. I am not sure for what. Maybe, someone who could tell me this was all a dream or a prank or practical joke. But there was no one around. There was no one who could comfort, console or bring relief. I was all on my own. Michael was the only person who ever really cared, loved me and could understand and console me.