I walked home from school alone.  Like I do every single day.  All of my friends from football often ask me if I want to hang out after school, but my answer is always 'no.'  Every single time.  You see, some things weigh down on me.  I need to be able to cry without feeling like a wimp.  I admit that freely.  I cry.  Yes, that is right.  I am man enough to admit it.  I took out the crumpled drawing I made in history.  I stared at the sketches.  The etched pencil lines and felt a cold hand clamp over my heart.  The resemblance of my father's face was exact.  No one knew that I drew the same person every time I drew.  His face.  My father.  Gone.  Forever.

A cold salty tear traced down my face and winced as a flash from my past snapped me into reality.

A cold dark night.  I didn't pay much attention to that at the time.  A flash.  A single bullet.  My father's last words to me.  That last words he ever spoke to anyone.  "Cory, run!  I love you, son!  Run, save yourself!"

I crumbled right there.  On the pavement.  My breathing slowed down.  I couldn't inhale.  Everything stopped.  Tears trickled down my cheek and splashed onto the ground, making little blotch marks on the ground.  My hand pounded on the ground, trying to hurt it.  I wanted a different pain to distract me from the one in my heart.  That pain was worse than any physical wound I could ever get.

I stayed in the same position for ten to fifteen minutes.  Wallowing in my guilt, grief, and pain.

"Dad," I muttered.  Sorrow welled up in me faster than a hot air balloon.

I stared down at the paper.  It was a hopeless dream.  To have my father back again.  Drawing him. . .It almost feels like he is back with me again.  Like he would make me feel alright.  

The likeness is good.  Way too good.  Instead of making me feel better, it makes my grief feel ten times worse.

His shaggy brown hair was styled like it always did.  His brown eyes were just like my sister's.  I got my mom's blue eyes.  I dont normally complain, but I wish I looked a little more like my father.

I sighed.  Then, I went back to my house.  To my mom, Danna, and my sister, Alice. 

"Hey, honey.  How was your day?"

My mom greeted me with a warm smile.  As much as I knew I was guilty for my dad's death, my mom and sister would never accept it.  They treated me different, too.  Kinder.  More. . .sympathetic, I guess would be the word. 

"Eh.  Nothing special. I drew another one.  Here," I handed to her.  She smiled at me faintly. 

"Go on upstairs and do your homework.  Dinner will be ready fifteen."

I nodded curtly and went up to my room.

My fault. . . . .

The door opened.

"I know what you are thinking.  Stop blaming yourself.  Dad wouldnt have wanted it.  You know that.  Everything happens for a reason, Big Brother.  We just need to accedpt that reason and live on.  Does the world cry when the day turns to night?  No.  They just find a different happiness.  Instead of the sun, they see the moon and rejoice for what freedom and happiness they have and cheerish it.  Dont be selfish.  Dont think me didnt all grieve.  You have to get over yourself.  Deal with the past and move past it.  Cory, it wasnt your fault." 

My sister said, leaving me shocked and confused.  The door closed.  Since when was my sister so smart? 

Could I even let myself listen to her advice?  I laced my fingers toether, deep in thought.