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If we are not true to ourselves, we can never feel completely content
A familiar sick feeling sat in the pit of his stomach. He chewed on what he had just done. He searched his mother’s face for answers but all he could see what that same resigned smile she had been wearing for days now and he knew she would never let it go. He observed the sea of black which had invaded his household, a procession of false sympathies after the funeral. Making small talk and grazing on triangle sandwiches the group of nobodies filled the room, threatening to erase his brother’s memory and the real cause of his death. Home no longer felt right and he couldn’t help but think that his place in the world had been shifted.
In need of fresh air, he fled outside to the sanctity of the honest wind. It hit his face with a slap, a beast reminding him who he used to be and chastising him for what he had become. The rigidity of his ill fitting suit felt like it was suffocating him and with every breath he felt more and more confined to the constraints of the secret. Observing from outside the way his parents lied to each friend who asked what had happened, he could read their lips retelling the fabricated story of a car crash over and over. They were burying the chaotic suicide of their eldest, deeper into the same soil in which he now lay.
As the rain began to pour he sighed with relief, begging the weather to cause him enough pain to punish him for his cowardice. Now understanding why his brother had hated this life, his lips turned into a snarl, blaming the horrendously superficial summer weight world for murdering his only solace. Through the glass doors, he criticised the guiltless expression his father held. As a little boy the man had been hero to him, as an adolescent he was a killer. Infuriated and heartbroken, he knew if he maintained their facade he could no longer be who he was.
Kneeling down in the rain, he let the anguish from the clouds wash over him. The howling wind masked his violent sobs as he twisted in contrived pain for betraying his brother’s suffering, heaving in sync with the wintery sky. Torn between his family and his own morals, the boy slumped against the old shed. He willed himself to be courageous. Afraid of his own reflection he avoided the mirror like window before him, too scared to look into the eyes of what he now was. He mumbled the word ‘sorry’ like a mantra, hoping that someone would hear his heartfelt apology and tell him what to do, but it was simply blown away in the vicious gust of storm.
Unsure what to do but knowing he had to do something, the boy wallowed in his bitterness soaking up the same despair of the weather. The liveliness inside his house proved to him that he was not part of his spineless family, but he could not be sure where else he could go. Disappearing seemed cowardly knowing that a life that was built on lies would only destroy him, making him just like his Anthony Squires father, he discounted the possibility of retreating back indoors. The storm too was passing and that was proof to him that he couldn’t stay outside either. Confused and alone, he debated leaving them forever.
He was unprepared when his panicked mother approached him. She took him by the hand and gently led him back to the place he detested; all the while the weight of the world was thrown upon his shoulders. Sentenced to a life of lies webbed together by a merciless spider, his newly pressed tie hung to him like a noose, forever threatening to push him over the edge and leave him hanging above a dishonest life.
My name is Dussy and I finished VCE this year (2010). One day I hope to write for National Geographic, but in the mean time I’m going to study Journalism and hopefully travel the world .