Speaking Death
When we were younger I always used to ignore my brother Wayne's shouts and screams.
Now we are adults, and even though I try to ignore his yelling with all my might the sounds that emanate from his mouth still infiltrate into my mind. You would think that he was in pain. He was, I guess, in the pain of frustration, in the pain of being unable to speak. All the sounds he could ever make were screams and whines. Everyone pities people like that, including me of course. I also wanted to be able to put him out of his misery like everyone else but our parents were adamant that such 'barbaric actions' were not at all necessary; they would not let Wayne go in such a callous way.
Don't get me wrong, I loved Wayne more than anything I owned or had, we grew up as close siblings. We even came up with our own private sign language so that we could talk privately, just the two of us having long detailed conversations that no one else could ever understand.
It's a shame he passed away, in fact it wasn't all that long ago. Lots of friends and family are still grieving over his horrific death. As for me, I'm over him, no point in dwelling in the past as I always say. You know the police say it was suicide but that is seriously doubted, I personally doubt that explanation especially, because I know for a fact that Wayne was a person who lived life as it should be lived.
He was a lover of life even if he was disabled; he would attempt to do ...
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It's a shame he passed away, in fact it wasn't all that long ago. Lots of friends and family are still grieving over his horrific death. As for me, I'm over him, no point in dwelling in the past as I always say. You know the police say it was suicide but that is seriously doubted, I personally doubt that explanation especially, because I know for a fact that Wayne was a person who lived life as it should be lived.
He was a lover of life even if he was disabled; he would attempt to do anything that someone normal could do. It was upsetting, he tried so hard to fit in with everyone else but all he received was rejection, even from me eventually.
As we grew to become respected adolescents I came to hate Wayne with my heart and soul, I just couldn't help it, it just happened.
My strong love for Wayne deteriorated and transformed into a burning hatred, I felt so ashamed of it but unfortunately as it progressed it became uncontrollable.
When he died I felt ecstatic for the first time in the many years I had hidden my loathing for Wayne from him and everyone else.
A couple of days later after Wayne's death I started to hear familiar whines, at first they were diminutive, quiet whines, similar to a dog pining, therefore I thought it must be the dog next door. If only it was.
After a time the whines gradually altered into loud piercing screams that penetrated my ear drum. No one else appeared to hear the wails coming from behind me that reminded me so much of Wayne. I would turn around as fast as I could, but to no avail. I never found the source of the haunting noises.
A t night I have dreams of Wayne screaming as the murderer slit his throat. I could not see the features of the killer for I was seeing through their merciless eyes. After a dream like that which I have regularly and becoming more frequent every night. I would wake up tears streaming down my face, my eyes automatically drawn to a picture of Wayne and me as children. To me it was unique; it held several memories, that's why I kept it. You would probably find me sitting on the edge of my bed often, my eyes fixated on the one picture in my whole house, just remembering.
Over the months since Wayne has died I have edged away from society, not wanting to face so many people. You could say I am agoraphobic, scared of leaving the safety of my house, not wanting strangers looking at me as if I had committed a crime.
Most people would suspect that I get lonesome in my house, just my everyday thoughts, and me, but I don't. I keep occupied by doing housework and hobbies like sewing or something.
Although I have to admit my life is more different than that. It seems to me to be traumatized in a way, not noticeably so that normal people would notice but I have noticed subtle changes in my lifestyle not to mention the change of long ago, yes, they are still here all the time following me like a shadow, the shouts and screams.
Some nights I sleep, sometimes I don't, and on one of the sleepless nights I went down stairs for a cup of relaxing tea. In the kitchen on the wall I saw a message written in blood 'You murderer.' In a frantic panic I spun round, anxiously searching. I saw nothing, just my house, as it always was, tidy, clean, and empty.
I couldn't stand it anymore; I refused to take more pain and fear. I stumbled over to the knife rack my eyes filled with tears and grabbed the knife that had been fatal to Wayne. With my last breath of life I cried out with one last piercing scream.
"I'm sorry Wayne!"
Fiona Malpass 10C1 15 September
Personal and Imaginative writing
