Anthropologist's log - 04

Posted on 04 Jan 2015 @ 1:42pm by Lieutenant Oren Idris Ph.D.

347 words; about a 2 minute read

When my brother was taken away, life turned into one giant blob, with one day simply blurring into the next as I tried to realise what happened. My parents were beside themselves, I could feel it. But then....

Then they weren't anymore. I don't know how long it took them, but suddenly they were alright again.

The music downstairs began to play, models began to parade around the house and, had it not been for the cot in my room, no one could've known that another soul lived in that house.

But I knew. I knew that they weren't people. They didn't have a soul. Just leaving the bed there was cruel beyond words. I still can't believe they did that to me.

I stared at it every night before I finally cried myself to sleep. Whenever I brought it up, they would find some excuse, some way to placate me by telling me some half-assed story of how they were still looking for Dejen, but I knew it was all pretend.

All they did was grow quiet whenever I brought it up and then it was never spoken of again. I hoped that they'd cried themselves to sleep every night the way I did, because I hated them with every fiber of my body.

I hated them for their detachment. I swore to myself that I would never forget about Dejen, that I would never be like them, because I was an actual person, who felt things. A person who cried when they lost something instead of just shrugging it off as some passing moment in my life.

But it seems my worst nightmare is a reality.

When Jules called, I felt numb but I just thought it was the shock because, who can be numb about hearing that their parents were dead? Even if you knew it subconsciously somehow, surely seeing their bones would make anyone feel something? They weren't even whole! It was just bits and pieces.

My parents are in bits and pieces and I feel nothing.

And I hate myself for it.

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