Platform VI [ COMPLETED ]

Ch 1 : My story but I'm not the lead

Ever heard about crime investigations about murder's, homicides or suicides, where they can never really figure out the extent of the gravity of the situation would have been, or what precision people would've taken to commit such crimes, I've always been fascinated with crime-time T.V. shows, with all the different kinds of cases.

Of course, don't take me wrong, the fascination is just because I've maybe considered once or maybe twice to become a criminologist, but I never really took it up, cause my mother doesn't really see any scope in it.

Oh, you must be wondering, how is this guy, and what the hell is he even talking about....

Well, my name is George, George Fernsby, I'm 21 years old, my backstory is kinda a tragic one...

My father died when I was a kid, so I grew up with my mother, so had to take up alot of jobs, although being a single mother was a tough job, I got into a lot of messed up company, you see, since my mom couldn't afford private school, so after my fifth grade the school that I went to was a government one, so there weren't alot of rules, more like you could break them more than the one's that were actually made, so that's where I met a few friends, more like got bullied, and that's where the downward spiral began.

As much as I would've known, they worked for drug peddlers, and they actually delivered and bought drugs themselves, unfortunately, the rite of passage for me was to do drugs. By the time I reached eighth grade I was a druggie, not the mild newbie kind, but the kind that actually took them right before class started, alot of the times the withdrawal symptoms where seen by my physical education coach, who caught us several times, warning us that it would lead to a life of destruction, but I dont think the wires in our senses were alive to even respond to him, other than the solid urge to consume that drug named 'hope'.

That hope, was something that assured me that my life would be stable, that all the lies would disappear and dissolve into my blood and make me stronger.

My anger rose in seventh grade when Aunt Nancy, who often visited my house came along with along with my cousins, Freddie and Rose. Rose was just five and Freddie was ten. I still remember the first time I went to visit Aunt Nancy for Freddie's christening, he was so small and weird looking, the feeling of holding him in my arms, I was just three, but I felt that everytime I show him, I was that same three year old, excited to hold him in my arms and watch him smile or cry.

After having our snacks, we ran out to the backyard to play hide and seek,
since, I suggested the game, of course I'd be the one seeking for them, I mean the logic with these kids really...

So as usual, I made sure that they used only the house to hide, just so that they were safe and that they didnt get lost in the woods, I mean these woods are as safe as any place could be, but again I didnt want them, especially Rose to get lost incase I'm not able to find her and just like that the seeking began.

"4, 3, 2, 1,0.... Ready or not, here I come!!!!"

I entered my house through the back door, trying to be as quite as possible to maybe hear whispers or giggles, I reached the kitchen, looking at the house wondering if i should steal a cookie or two, I reached for the cabinet, but heard a loud voice, a one that sounded familiar, so I decided to ho towards it, and found my mother and Aunt Nancy having a little talk, a talk that was the cause to set my nightmares ablaze, I heard something that didnt just made my heart weak but hallow as the very same second.

"He is happy with another family, you need to find your happiness again, he is never coming back to you."

Just like that, the amount of hate that I would've never imagined to be physically present, turn out to be the only colour that I could see....

One by one, like a domino, I kept falling into the wrong company, taking up odd jobs and silently I made sure that I'd take up sketching as a hobby, everytime I cried...

I was a void, a void where crying made me feel better, and at the same time made me angry for feeling lighter and having less hate... 

I started to smoke, that was just another additional hobby, that ensured that I'd reach my goal.

Some days, I felt like i was invisible, like I could fly up in the air and no one would notice, but now that i knew this secret, it pulled me back into this ocean, this deep abyss of misery and self loathe. I sweated to hate my father, and that hate consumed my life.

Yet, again, this story is not about me, my actions make me responsible for its consequences, but what happens if you influenced the actions of someone else, how could you help them, watching their dead soul flow into the deep cold stream, while the clear ice barricades the two of you...

How?

How could you help someone who clearly does not want to be helped?

I wish to have never been the way I was, but I'm still not sure if it would guarantee your life or your deat....