The canvas was still standing nude in front of me. Tears hauntingly travelled at a slow pace down my cheeks. I gently brushed them away with thge back of my hand. I put down my paintbrush and palette. I walked over to the stool hiding in the far corner of the room. It was still too hard to even think about. I missed him so much. And soon he would have his funeral. I was still unsure whether to join or run as far away as possible. I didn't want him to return home in an urn or casket, I wanted him home alive.
Tears rushed down my already wet cheeks. Nobody had ever understood the relationship we had had. He was my best friend, and I was his. We had stood by each others side from the beginning. Ever since I had been born, he had been supportive of whatever I did. He had been a better father, than my biological one.
I heard the stairs creak. I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted to drown in my own sorrow alone, I didn't want to be interferred with. I was angry and full of rage. But I also felt fragile and broken. I was mess full of almost every negative emotion you can think of. I wanted to avenge my brother death so desperately, but how? I was a girl, my place was at home, not out in the world avenging my dead brother.
I felt like killing how ever killed him. I wanted them to suffer a long and painfull death, he suffered, so they had to suffer as well. I dug my nails deeply into the palms of my hands. The stairs continued to creak. My nails dug deeper. The creaking increased. I felt waves of pain coming from the palms of my hands. The creaking became louder and louder. The pain from my hands grew stronger and stronger. The creaking stopped, but the pain continued. Tears fell, the pain continued and the door opened.