A/N I should actually rate this thing higher than PG 13... I warn all who read that this is definitely not for the faint of heart. Don't say you weren't warned!! I set this is the spiritual section since it's based out of the perspective of a Christian and is filled with very real spiritual questions... This is my first attempt at a first perspective writing thingy... so.... Oh and please forgive the mistakes that are on this piece. To be bluntly honest, I simply didn't have the heart (or stomach) to read through this thing again.

This is unlike anything I've ever written and posted on Fictionpress so....

This is based on a true story, though obviously the thoughts and opinions of the first person might not be accurate to what actually happened.. For safety and security purposes names have been changed, but that's nothing new right??

I warned, but I ask that you pray as well before reading this... the content below is disturbing to say the least...

Be blessed

'}}}

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I sit on the school field and watch the sun go down. So many times in my life I asked myself this question, but never in my life was the answer so close to an affirmative as it is now.

'Am I going insane?'

They say that a person is still mentally stable if he talks to himself. That one should worry when you start to answer yourself… If that was so then I would have been insane for most of my seventeen years on this earth. Fortunately I know better.

'Will what happened to me drive me insane?'

Now that was the better question to ask. Will my thoughts drive me insane? Will my memories drive me insane? No, they won't, but one thing might. The fact that I knew she would do it. The knowledge that I could have done something if only I had trusted the nagging voice in my mind. You know the one right? The one we never listen to.

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It had been such a normal day, but, then again, one is never ready for the phone call that will make your heart plummet. The sun was shining. I was doing what I normally do, which is basically hanging around the house. It was a Saturday. The Christmas month that was known for its snow in the northern hemisphere was hot here in the African sun. If felt so strange to watch CNN weather and know that kids were playing in the snow somewhere when you have never seen snow in your life other than on television. It's strange when you've never touched it, or tasted the supposedly ice cold substance.

As the afternoon moved on closer to evening a thought popped into my head. It was so strange to think of something like that. My thought process was basically like this.

'Man, I'm soooo bored! What's there to do in this house without making my mom crazy….. Nothing!! It's a cool day though.... Hey! I wonder if Aunt Essie is saved… {Pause} Huh?'

Why did that thought come up? I rarely think of the rest of our family. They were a twelve hour drive away. Life basically moved on without any contact from them, except for special days such as birthdays and Christmas.

Aunt Essie was wonderful though. I didn't see her often, but I loved her deeply. She was not only my mom's older sister, but also my godmother. Her blue-green eyes were always soft behind her sharp, hawk-like features. She was always delicate… 'A real lady!' my mom always teased, but never frail. Strong like all the women in our family.

I chewed on the thought for a while and then finally decided to cast it aside. I mentally placed it on my 'something to ask mom' list and left it at that… I was such an idiot.

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The electronic watch on my desk showed it to be an hour before midnight when the phone rang. I wondered who it could possibly be as I raced towards the phone.

"Hello?"

"I want to talk to Marie," the voice quivered on the other side, the frail and tired voice of a very distressed grandmother.

"Grandma?" I asked surprised at her lack of greeting.

"I want to talk to Marie," is all she said.

"I'll go get her quickly. Hold on," I said hastily, placing the receiver on the table before sprinting towards my mother's room. I wondered what could be the reason for my grandmother's behavior, but something made me stop dead in my tracks. A sound. A gunshot. I looked around uncertainly. The sound came from nowhere… or rather, from nowhere around me. The sound had shook through my body

It came from within.

I shook the thought quickly and entered my mother's room. After quickly filling my mom in on my grandmother's strangeness, my mom also thought it prudent to sprint to the phone. I followed her at a very slow pace. Somehow I already knew what my grandmother wanted to say. I knew about who the conversation would be… and I also knew about what.

'How can you say that?!' I chastised myself severely. 'How DARE you say that?! Since when do you know what's going on thousands of miles from you?'

"Mom?" I heard her ask uncertainly when she finally picked up the receiver. I moved closer and sat on the ground against the wall, waiting for three words I somehow knew would come.

"M-my sister Essie??" those three words came. Tears sprung to my eyes. In my mind's eye, I saw the gun being brought up to her head. I saw the trigger pulled. I heard the gunshot.

"She's dead?" my mother's voice faded into a whisper. I couldn't bear to hear it any more. I fled to my room, letting the darkness within it to engulf me. A few minutes later I heard my mom stumble to her room. I heard the commotion as the rest of the household, consisting of my father and brother, heard the news. My aunt Essie had committed suicide only an hour ago.

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How I hate to sit in a car for longer than an hour! The wait would grate so terribly on my nerves that I could easily be irritable for days afterwards, but that particular drive was different. We arrived at our destination after a ten hour drive spent in absolute silence. It was already close to nightfall on the Sunday. It was impossible to comprehend that only eighteen hours had passed since the phone call that would change our lives forever.

The evening was spent consoling both grandparents. A task that wasn't easy since weakness wasn't something that was shown often in our family. My mother tried to remain strong, but didn't allow any of us to console her. It was her fight with grief… we were not welcome to help.

My brother came to me that night. Being the eldest also made him the leader, so listening to him wasn't just an option but an order. I had enough respect for him to know to listen though. He was also the only one of us who could speak to my mother in her current state. What he said that night shook me, but later I knew it had to be done.

"How are you?" he asked as he walked into the bedroom I had retreated to.

"M-me? I'm alright I guess," I stammered, trying to maintain my composure.

"Good," he nodded. "I have something to ask you."

I simply nodded and waited for him to continue.

"This week will be exceptionally hard on Mom. We have to be strong for her. Do you understand?"

I nodded once again. I knew what he was asking. He didn't need to say it.

"There'll be enough time for you to morn after this week. Let's just get her through this okay?"

He left the room, leaving me to work through my thoughts about his request. What a hard thing it was to ask! He wasn't simply talking about being strong. He was talking about the whole thing… 'Don't morn now.'

I spent the rest of the night thinking and praying to God to strengthen me for what I knew would be the most difficult week of my life.

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So what had happened? What brought such a wonderful person to take her own life? Such an easy answer for something so complicated… Depression.

Another family secret that came to the surface. Boy! Do I hate those! A loving woman driven to alcohol. Someone who tried to kill herself several times. It was as if the floodgates that kept the truth from us for so many years, suddenly opened and gushed out shock after shock, secret after secret… each one darker than the one before.

But the truth only brought more questions. Why weren't we told of her depression? Why didn't she go for help? Why? Why? Why? What could drive a person so far over the edge?

They were at friends that evening. They had an agreement on the amount of drinks she may have, but her friends simply gave her more and more until all thought flew out of the window. An argument erupted and the very friends that urged her on, suddenly disappeared as they drove home. There were arguments in the car as well, but silence grew thick as they arrived home.

Each went to their own things. Her mother-in-law hovered close by to hear the latest sin Essie committed before returning to the granny flat built especially for her. No one saw Essie walk to the storage room where her husband had hidden the gun. How could they when she supposedly didn't know where he had hid it? No one heard her unlock the chest with the key no one knew she had found. No one heard anything until a single shot ran through the house.

A shot that left my twenty two year old cousin motherless.

Why wasn't the depression dealt with? Because of ignorance… my uncle didn't believe in depression. He believed it to be a ruse to cover something… what exactly escapes me, but of course anything that could show the family not to be perfect should be kept under the shadow of darkness. I mean, one's reputation is more important than the wellbeing of your household right??

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I always thought myself to be a calm, reserved person. Someone who had full control of herself at all times. Someone who knew her emotions and could remain calm even under the toughest circumstances… But I found that I had one weakness in this area. There was one occurrence in this crazy life that made me throw all control out of the window and that was grief.

This process was usually slow, but ultimately very close to deadly. My body would be numb for close to three days. After that my heart would start to race, my body would shake uncontrollably and I would snap at anything or anyone that came close enough to be a possible threat. My mind would be clear at first. I would receive insight into matters I never thought possible. Then my thought process would increase until the blur of thought was only distinguished by the different emotional pain and stress that accompanied each one.

This would continue until I finally cracked… and then… all bets were off…

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I was very numb as the car rolled into the driveway. I stared at the house that had so much pleasant memories for me. I remembered the strange jokes my aunt told me as we walked into the house. The smell reminded me of her. It was strange that I never thought on it until that moment. It reminded me of how comfortable one could be around her; around her laughter.

Being the youngest in my family wasn't much of an advantage. It had made me an outcast for most of my life. My aunt was one of the only people to know how to draw out the best in me. She was one of the few who had found a way to make me open up.

My mother simply nodded at Aunt Essie's mother-in-law, who so desperately tried to get all the sympathy she could draw from us, and asked where my uncle John was. The old woman, visibly disturbed at the lack of attention she was receiving from us, informed my mother that both he and my cousin was at the funeral home. My mother took this in and walked out of the back door.

My brother gave me a look. 'Follow her,' it told me and so I did. I found her outside, pulling the door of the storage room open, walking inside and closing the door behind her. I was surprised at her action, but was even more so when I heard the lock of the door move into place. I knocked on the door and called to her, but no reaction came. She had locked herself in the room.

"Where is she?" I heard my brother's voice behind my and pointed to the door.

"She locked herself in," I informed him and stepped aside so he could step closer.

He spoke to her softly, pleading her to open the door. After a few minutes he somehow managed to get her to unlock the door. He walked inside. Another look from him told me to stay outside and wait. I heard his soothing voice on the other side of the door and it wasn't long before he had her out of the room. He moved her to the house and returned with a look of determination.

"We have to remove the carpet."

"Carpet?" I asked confused.

"There was a carpet in the room. Nothing has been cleaned up yet and the carpet is soaked. We have to remove it. None of the others will have the stomach to do it."

I nodded and he led me into the room. Its smell is something I won't forget as long as I live. The room was thick with the smell of blood. I realized that no door or window was opened in the two days that had passed since the… incident. As I breathed in the putrid air, a metallic taste formed at the back of my throat, making my stomach more than a little queasy.

My eyes moved through the room. It filled with tool chests, cabinets and other odds and ends. I gasped slightly as my eyes went to the carpet. It was better not to think that the red substance on it was the blood of a relative, but that didn't stop me from thinking about it. The same could be said for the blood against the walls.

"Let's do it," my brother said hoarsely.

We grunted and strained as we moved the chests off of the carpet. More than once I thought my back was going to snap in two. As we grabbed hold of one of the chests on the ground I heard my brother curse softly and looked down at his hands. He had inadvertently pressed his hands unto the blood. We both stared at his hands, not sure what to do. He snapped out of it first by picking up the chest once again and the work began once more. We finally rolled up the carpet and moved it out of the room. Both our hands were stained red, but we were in too much shock to realize what it meant.

"Go get two black bags," he ordered as he continued to fold the carped so it was more compact and maneuverable. We covered the carpet by stuffing each of the two ends into the bags.

"I'll go get rid of it," he said as we finished and moved to pick up the load. I stared at him as his hands shook visibly while he was lifting the bag. He smiled softly and thanked me, before turning and taking the carpet to the car that was parked up front.

I couldn't, wouldn't allow myself to process what I had just done. I stared down at my hands, which were also visibly shaking. I didn't allow my mind to register the smell of the red stains on my own hands.

Movement caught my attention and I looked up to see my cousin's girlfriend approach with a broom, a mop, a bucket and a scrub brush. I nodded weakly as I looked at the stranger I had only met that day.

She was small and visibly pale. Her smiled softly through her tearstained face and dropped all she was carrying beside the door of the store room.

"The walls and concrete floor needs to be cleaned as well," she stated the obvious and filled the bucket with soap and water.

I watched with odd fascination as she started washing off the wall, pausing every so often to brush of the tears that were streaming down her face. It was strange to me that she, who wasn't even part of our family, would be mourning my aunt while I stood there like an idiot. As cold and stiff emotionally as her corpse in the morgue. I moved closer to her when she collapsed against the wall, sobbing. Careful not to touch her with my hands, I took the bucket and the brush from her.

"Go," I told her softly. "I'll clean up here."

She was surprised at my offer, but gratefully made her way out of the room while remained in the dark room. I knelt down at the blood and started scrubbing the sticky substance off the floor. While I worked my mind sped into hyper drive as I contemplated what I was actually doing.

Here I was, all alone in the room my aunt killed herself, on my knees, cleaning up the mess she had left. Her last 'mark' upon this world… and I would have the 'honor' of wiping it away.

"You must have never thought that I off all people would be the one to do this, did you?" I asked, chuckling softly. "Life is just full of surprises isn't it?"

I chuckled again as I realized that I was talking to myself or, to be more accurate, someone who already left this world. 'Lord, I must really be falling off of the deep end,' I prayed.

After an hour of scrubbing, sweeping, rinsing, crying, chuckling and talking to myself, I finally left the room. My hands were raw, but I didn't even notice it. All I wanted to do was breathe in some fresh air and rid my memory of a smell I knew could cling there forever.

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After that I broke down completely. For the rest of the day I was mellowed by tranquilizers and wasn't completely with the rest of the world. It was only at midnight, when dampened congratulations rang through the house, that I took note of the date.

25 December, Christmas day.

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I shivered slightly as the last rays of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. It's been many weeks after the funeral. Not mourning that first week proved to be a crucial mistake. My mind bounced back and forth between the present and the past. Between enjoying the sweet smell of the summer air and the thick metallic one I left behind in that room.

One question spilled through my mind over and over. What if? Such a famous question is it not? What if? What if I reacted to my thoughts that afternoon, no more than six hours before my aunt shot herself? What if I prayed? What if I called? What if? What if?

And then another question popped into my thoughts. Why? Why did I know? Why did I see what happened? Why did I hear the gunshot? Why? Why?

One day I'll have my answers… One day I'll cast aside the guilt… One day I'll understand, but at least some lessons have been learned through it all.

- Live a life of no secrets. So much destruction could have been stopped if only there was honesty amongst the family.
- React to all things with prayer. Discern what is what. Don't be blinded by your own human logic. Our foolishness only covers God's wisdom.
- Pride leads ultimately to downfall. Don't let pride come in the way of the welfare of another… or of yourself.
- Love one another… and let that love be known. My biggest heart ache was the knowledge that I'll never know what she really thought of me… and that she never knew what I thought of her.

As for the title of this piece... a lot of secrets should have been told, but I've made myself a hypocryte... You see, know one knows that I knew... maybe it's also a secret that should have been told...

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Dedicated to E.C.

1956-2001