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Michael woke up in his bed, his head fuzzy, and limbs felt weighted, almost like he didn't feel any real need to get up. Slowly blinking, he realised he didn't know how long he slept for.
He got out of bed, and slipped outside. Glancing at the calendar in the living room, he realised, it had been three days since his attempt.
He didn't feel particularly hungry, in fact, he didn't seem to feel much of anything at all. Making his way to the kitchen, his eyes landed on Elizabeth, trying to reach over to a stovetop, far too tall for her height.
At first, his eyes softened at the sight, but it quickly turned into a look of concern when he noticed her red-rimmed, dulled eyes. The older sibling tried to call out for her, but no sound came out. He realised she didn't even notice him. An uncomfortable feeling started to fester in his chest.
Michael watched as she tugged, and dragged out a stool to stand on. She was making eggs. He always made eggs for breakfast for Evan and Elizabeth. The younger girl, now on the stool, attempted to muster up whatever energy and patience she seemed to have left to try and crack the egg. She mimicked her brother's actions, the one's he'd done so, so many times for the three of them. The thought brought a glassiness to her eyes, and Michael felt himself wince at the sight.
She cracked the egg, only belatedly realising that she had to quickly get the shells out. She dropped them into the pan, alongside the eggs.
This seemed to be the breaking point of her patience, she let out a small sob of frustration. Michael watched on, unable to do anything, he couldn't seem to get his feet to move. His head felt fuzzy again. He felt like crying at the sight but no tears were brought to his eyes.
At the peak of her frustration, the younger girl grazed her arm on the stovetop pan, let out a yelp, tripping over the stool in her sudden shock and pain, losing her balance and falling over.
Michael ached to go and help her, but his feet, simply would not move.
Elizabeth stared for a few long seconds at her arm, and then tears started to flow down her face. She cried quietly, making near to no noise. It felt like a foreign sight.
Michael remembers many instances of Elizabeth crying.
He remembers watching his mother hold her in her arms, after giving birth. The baby wailed. Michael winced at the sound and hid behind his father. His mom chuckled. It was a nice sound. "Come on, Michael, meet your baby sister," his mother called out to him sweetly.
"Her name is Elizabeth, quite nice, don't you think?" she had said. Michael simply nodded with an awe in his eyes.
He remembers a 6 year old Lizzie, who vehemently stated she no longer wanted to be called Elizabeth by her brothers. She never explained why. Father continued calling her Elizabeth.
Lizzie would sob with crocodile tears, to convince their father to let them do what they want. Pasta for dinner? A new doll? A new dress? Spending some more time with her brothers before bedtime? Done.
There were instances Lizzie would cry, out of injury. One time, she tried to use Michael's skateboard without him knowing. She hadn't anticipated it would be so hard to balance, so she feel over almost immedaitely and scraped her knee.
She hadn't cried instantly, but she panicked. What would Michael say? What would Daddy say? She swallowed thickly and raced into the house, swinging open Michael's bedroom's door to return the skateboard to it's original place, hopefully before anyone noticed.
The hope was quickly squashed when she was met with Michael's unimpressed face. After a small lecture, he inspected her wound and brought out a first aid kit. "If you wanted to try so badly, you could have just asked me", "I'm sorry…", "It's fine, just don't do it next time,". She cried and cried when he dabbed the antiseptic on her wound. Michael panicked, and tried to satiate her. "Hey, hey, look it's over! D-don't cry.. it's done," he sighed out of relief when he sobs died down. "I hope dad doesn't chew me out for this" Michael huffed despondently.
She wore her longer dresses for the next few days, so it covered her knee. Her father never got to know.
And now, she sat, curled up againdt the kitchen counter, letting out the quietest tears he'd ever seen her cry.
Michael felt the odd feeling in his chest grow. His legs moved on their own volition. Now, he found himself standing infront of Evan's door. It creaked open as he stepped in, but Evan didn't seem to stir at the noise. The younger boy was curled underneath the covers, unmoving.
Michael paused and wondered if he was asleep. He was proven wrong when Evan shifted ever so slightly.
Michael walked over and sat on the bed, the side which he was sleeping on. Evan still payed no attention to him. His eyes were bloodshot, and red-rimmed, looking worse than they ever did, even worse than they did after he woke up from nightmares, even worse than when father would raise his voice ever so slightly.
But in that moment, Evan wasn't crying. He was simply staring, not at Michael, not at.. anything. It was almost like he wasn't even present. Only then, the older boy noticed a crumpled up piece of paper that Evan held towards his chest.
Oh. Oh.
When Michael decided to do it, he left a note on his bed, that would likely be read by everyone, but he also left letters directed to Evan and Elizabeth specifically. He'd prefer it if his father wasn't privy to the more personal feelings Michael left behind.
Michael had seen Evan under much distress many times. Much like Elizabeth, he was a crier, but much more frequent than her. Evan would show up at his bedroom door in the middle of the night, face puffy and eyes glossed over. He was always a skittish child, to whom, tears came as easily as smiles. Michael never really understood it, but tried to help anyway he could.
Michael and Evan were a bit of a dichotomy. Father put Michael under a lot of scrutiny, a scrutiny that he never placed on the other two children. Michael figured that it was simply because William figured that Michael would end up taking care of the two, and he didn't need to bother. Michael didn't know which was better.
For this reason, Michael was never allowed to express his emotions in a way that his siblings often got away with. It caused him to harbour some ill feelings, though, they'd quickly wash away when he saw his brother's sheepish smile and heard his sister's bright laugher. He'd like to think that they needed him, but the truth was, he needed them. So much.
Seeing Evan, completely detached from reality, opened a pit in Michael's stomach. Evan was always easily entertained. If Michael could just get him to look at him.. then maybe he thought he could make him smile. But for whatever reason, he seemed to have turned invisible.
Michael remembers taking both his siblings out for ice cream on a sunday. It was summer, the sun burned down on them like they had personally insulted it. Michael recalls that he thought he'd rather be at home, but he couldn't turn down Lizzie's constant pestering. They bought their ice cream, sat at a bench by the pier and watched the sunset.
It was a warm memory. He remembers Evan, who's legs grew tired. Evan asked his older brother with pleading eyes if he could piggyback him the way home. Michael carried Evan's shoes in one hand, took Lizzie's hand in the other, while Evan rested on his back.
Evan was an emotional child. He cried when there were bugs in his room, and he also cried for the bugs when they died. He was a perceptive child. Very observant for his age.
So it was very unsettling, to watch such a child, suddenly so devoid of all life.
Michael's feet moved again. He walked out of the room.
His head grew fuzzy once more. He found himself standing infront of father's office. As he stepped inside, he saw his father, hunched over his desk, papers, notes and designs scattered haphazardly. His father was generally an orderly man.
Michael felt nothing. His father continued working, not acknlowledging the door that seemingly swung open due to wind.
No memories came to mind, no matter how long he stared at his father. Michael left.
He ended up walking out of the house, down the street, took two lefts, and found himself facing a house. A house he frequented very often a few years back. He entered. A man, just around the age of his father, sat at his kitchen counter, his back facing Michael. Henry.
Two bottles of alcohol laid on the table. One was empty, the other was halfway empty. Michael vaguely recalls noticing that Henry started to drink more once Charlie passed. Although, he would consider him an alcoholic, per say. When Charlie died, it seemed like Henry aged 10 years. Now it looked like he aged another 10.
Michael recalls another memory. Father left them all alone for about a week. The first few days of the week was fine, but soon, Michael grew tired. He ended up having to do most of the chores in the house, running after his siblings, making sure they don't do something stupid, completing all his schoolwork, entertaining Lizzie and cooking for the three of them. He recalls being 13 at the time.
Charlie visisted to drop by cookies that Henry baked, when she learnt all this. Henry showed up to their house, about an hour later, absolutely livid at their father for leaving them there. Michael didn't understand why he was so angry at the time. This was his normalcy.
Henry convinced the three of them to stay at his house until William was back. The night ended as they all played board games together, and Henry cooked a wonderful pasta.
The four of them went to sleep together in the living room, limbs tangled together, stomachs full, smiles on their faces and warmth in their hearts.
Even after Charlie died, Henry tried to look after Michael and his siblings whenever he could. Michael realised that it seemed to comfort Henry. The ability to take care of kids again.
Henry let out a sigh, and poured himself another glass of alcohol.
Michael's head grew fuzzy for the last time. He didn't know where he went, what he was doing, or how much time had passed. The next time he woke up, the first thing he registered was the breeze on his face. The blurriness from his vision cleared and he saw his father, Lizzie, Evan, Henry, and a few other relatives, who's names he couldn't really place.
Everyone was dressed formally, in black.
His father was speaking, but Michael couldn't really hear the words that he was saying.
Lizzie gripped Evan's hand like her life depended on it, the girl who was so brave, bold and brazen, was now reduced to silent tears. The boy who felt so deeply, stared into the distance, almost completely removed from reality. Henry, his uncle, who had only ever shown love and care, was wracked with the grief of the passing of another child in his life.
Michael glanced at the casket infront of him.
Oh.