Brothers

You walk right on by and continue along on your journey home, figuring it's best not to get involved.

You find out a day later on the evening news that the old man was beat to death and robbed. Somehow you feel responsible. More blood on your hands. First you let your brother get kidnapped. Then you killed some kid who was bullying your little brother. And now this old man is dead because you didn't want to get involved.

What did God intend for you? Are you some kind of demon unleashed upon the world? Created to bring pain and misery to all who encounter your being? What's the point of living if everything you touch turns to shit?

You are thrown into the depths of an unbearable depression, so deep you can't even see the surface above you. Weeks go by and you are still wallowing around in self loathing. You've found yourself contemplating ending your misery, ending the grief you have brought to the world and are likely to bring again and again.

You go to the medicine cabinet and open it, within are countless prescription bottles filled with pills. You could take them all. It would be so easy.

It would be so easy.