Lonely? That's an understatement of how I feel.
After my mother died in a car accident, things were pretty bad. My brother started acting up in school. I started feeling myself slipping farther and farther away from reality. My mother was not gone. I refused to believe it.
My father had always been the level-headed one. His hope that things would get better never seemed to falter. Even without my mother's income, we made ends meet. He always kept faith. He kept his sanity for the sake of ours. I never saw him cry, not once.
He was perfectly fine. But a person can only hold back things for so long.
One day, my father had locked himself in our house while my little brother and I were at school.
He had lost it and blew his brains out with one of our firearms.
My brother and I were, once again, shocked and dismayed. Within a span of 3 months we had become orphans. I, being 3 years older at 15, was all he had. The police decided it would be best to put us in a mental hospital to help us avoid our father's fate. They said during this time, they would work out our living situation.
So here we are now, my brother and I, at "Hollyreed Pediatric Specialist Center."