Stillness.

Chapter Two

Let's begin.

 My mother and father met when they were only twenty-five. About a few years after that, they decided to get married. And when they were at the age of thirty, I was born. We lived in a beautiful white house. Out of everything, the garden was my favorite part. My mother and I would take care of the flowers and take walks and throw pennies in the fountain. Even though the fountain belong to us, no one ever took the pennies out. 

My father was a great man. He would take me to the beach when I was younger and we went out for ice cream at least once a week after our visit from the park. 

My mother died in a mysterious fire when I was thirteen. My father passed away from cancer three years after that. So now here I am, in an orphanage at age seventeen. I've never gotten adopted, people seem to think that taking care of a teenager is the most difficult thing in the world. My birthday just passed, so I'll have to wait until next year to leave this place on my own. 

My aunt tried to look after me when my father passed, but she hated the silence. I haven't really talked much since the fire. Before he passed, my father took me to therapy, but it was useless. 

I often think about the memories that I have with each other them, but as time goes on, the memories are fading. I wish they hadn't died. I wish I knew who started the fire. I know I can't go back, I know that I can't bring them back, and I think that's what hurts the most.

When I found out my mother had passed, I was in school. I was called up to the principals office during third period. Principal Robinson told me about the fire and the fire fighters finding a body; a body that just so happened to be my mother's. I felt my heart shatter, my insides shake, and the tears began to start pouring like rain from my eyes. When my father picked me up, just an hour later, he told me that we were going to live with my aunt Linda. 

When I found out my father had passed, I was at school. The principal called me up, gave the bad news, and I had the same reaction I did when I found out about my mother. My aunt Linda picked me up and I stayed quiet until she didn't know what to do anymore and put me in the orphanage. 

I don't think the hardest part was losing them. I think the hardest part is coming to the realization that they are never coming back. The hardest part is realizing that they're actually gone and nothing can ever bring them back. The hardest part is straining my brain just to bring back a simple memory. The hardest part is realizing that there will be no more memories to make with them. I think the hardest part is that this isn't a dream; that I cannot wake up. The hardest part isn't remembering what once was. The hardest part is knowing what won't be. 

I cried about them in the beginning, but not so much anymore. I'm still sad about them not being here, but it's a type of sadness that cannot be expressed through tears. In the beginning, I cried myself to sleep each night, hating that I couldn't tell either of them I loved them, hating that I couldn't give either of them a goodnight hug. I can't cry myself to sleep anymore. I can't cry at all anymore, but when I do, I'm never really crying about just one thing. 

People have tried to talk to me about them, but I could never really respond in a truthful way. They always told me that they would be there for me if I ever wanted to talk, but I don't think I want to. I think I like talking to myself better than talking to anyone else. When I talk to myself in my head, I can hear my parents' voices. I can hear them telling me they love me, I can hear them laughing. When I talk to other people, I don't hear my parents voices anymore. I like their voices. The bad thing about that is I'm starting to forget what they sounded like. I have only one picture of them and the longer I look at it, the more they are beginning to look like strangers. I strain myself. I tell myself that they're in a better place and that those people really are my parents, but deep down I feel like I am lying to myself. 

That hurts too; knowing that they're my parents, but beginning to forget all about them. I try. I try so hard not to forget what once was, but the memories are fading. I read a quote once that said, "People leave. Memories fade. But time goes on." I cannot go against this quote because I know that it is true. My parents are dead. The memories I have of them are fading. But time does not hesitate to go on, for it waits no one.