Post by zigs on Dec 2, 2006 9:33:30 GMT -5
Hello... This is Zigs once again... And I am writing this thread out of desperation in finding someone who can help me though a very horrible stage in not only my life but someone elses...
It is a situation which I cannot explain formally, but more or less like a diary.. I am that shaken about it... If I were to put it on: I'm not dead yet... It would probably go unnoticed....
A week ago, some men appeared at my front door, expecting to see my little brother Jett.
They entered and spoke to him, the next thing I knew he disappeared to America. I have no idea why, apparently to find something. And so I was okay and stable about it.
Yesturday morning I was awoken by the sound of my telephone screaming "Ring! Ring!"
I got out of my bed and headed down stairs, there was some mild fear in my older brother's eyes, seeing as how we are awaiting a message from the army to confirm whether my brother Chester is dead or alive...
Greg slowly picked up the phone, he was clearly shaking. And I was wondering where my father was.
"Hello?" Greg answered in a terrified tone.
"Dad?"
"Where are you?"
"What are you doing in America?"
"What? Shot? How? Why?"
My heart began to beat rapidly, whoever was shot, it wasn't a good sign for my family.
"Is he okay?"
"You want me to make the bed? Why? You bringing him here?"
I realized it was Jett... And my father refuses to have him in a normal hospital, so he was going to come here, for private treatment.
That day my brother and I were up and about cleaning the spare room, and putting in the hospital equipment. My father and Granddad had spent several years in the private hospital business... So our house was practically one.
I finally took a deep breath and entered my mother's ward. My mother has been bed ridden for six years now, and so she didn't know what was happening outside.
"Hello Ziggy, how are you today?" She coughed.
"Mummy..." I collapsed at the end of the bed and began to cry in fear for my brother's life.
"What's wrong honey?" She asked, she lifted up my head with her frail hands and looked at me in the eyes.
"Jett's dying... He was shot... And daddy is bringing him home to be looked after properly, and I don't think he'll survive!" I sobbed.
I remember my mother giving a smile, like an angel.
"It's going to be okay..." She replied calmly.
"How? He was shot..." I blubbered.
I actually can't remember the last time I referred to my dad as daddy... Sometime when Chester disappeared, or when Jett was run over, or when Greg got stabbed by some angery drunk men.
"Life has given my son a huge gift, and they won't take it away before he can use it..." She smiled again
That night I was awoken yet again by the sound of footsteps and echoing voices.
I ran to the other side of the house and stared in horror, as my little brother was taken to a private ward.
I sat outside for what felt like eternity, I fell asleep for a moment or so... Only to see darkness and my brothers, Jett and Chester disappearing...
I was finally allowed to see him.. Earlier this morning... The room was dull, and the darkness of the night before still remained. I looked over at the bed, it felt as though the reaper was hanging over him.
I moved closer and looked over his pale body, he opened his eyes slightly. and reached to some tubes that were coming from his arms.
"No, son, don't touch them, remember last time..." My father said moving closer and moving his hand away. Jett looked up at him with the essence of pain.
Then suddenly in a flash of hurt in my heart, I remembered the times before... When he was stabbed, ran over, shot... This has happened too many times before.
The doctor called my father, Greg and I out of the room.
"We removed three bullets, one from his shoulder, one from his left leg and one from the side of his stomach, thankfully they missed vital organs, but one fractured a rib, blood loss is definate, and we believe he may be paralysed." He informed us.
I visited Jett again, and more to my delight he was standing at the window, breathing heavily. Which must mean he isn't paralyzed. I walked over to him.
"Jett?" I was worried.
"A bullet... Hit my head... Scraped passed the left hemisphere..." Jett replied, and placed his hand on the glass. "I could hear the sound of the bone in my leg cracking as I was lifted into the sky by the air ambulance." He looked empty...
"I'm so sorry..." I frowned, I felt weak.
"I watched them... As the SWAT team appeared and cuffed them, I am the only one that was in the building... I didn't call for help... How did they know?" Jett looked at me, his eyes seemed soulless.
I looked at his chest, bullet wounds and scars... I couldn't touch him, I couldn't hug him, because he can't cope with it against his skin... He'd freak out.
"I'll go get you a drink, okay?" I ran out of the room, and fetched a drink, when I returned, Jett was back on his bed, a knife in front of him, and blood trickling down his forehead where he had cut under his hair. He looked up at me.
"It's stopped hurting..." He whispered.
I told my dad, by then again, Jett did it last time he was shot, stabbed and touched. All we had to do was to watch him.
I've been feeling empty and terrified since Greg answered the phone... I had to prepare another bed too... Chester is coming back from the war... Injured, not as bad as Jett, I believe, it turned out he was knocked down a large hill, he has broken his arm and has got a concusion... I don't think I can sleep.. I don't know who to talk to. Please Help..
It is a situation which I cannot explain formally, but more or less like a diary.. I am that shaken about it... If I were to put it on: I'm not dead yet... It would probably go unnoticed....
A week ago, some men appeared at my front door, expecting to see my little brother Jett.
They entered and spoke to him, the next thing I knew he disappeared to America. I have no idea why, apparently to find something. And so I was okay and stable about it.
Yesturday morning I was awoken by the sound of my telephone screaming "Ring! Ring!"
I got out of my bed and headed down stairs, there was some mild fear in my older brother's eyes, seeing as how we are awaiting a message from the army to confirm whether my brother Chester is dead or alive...
Greg slowly picked up the phone, he was clearly shaking. And I was wondering where my father was.
"Hello?" Greg answered in a terrified tone.
"Dad?"
"Where are you?"
"What are you doing in America?"
"What? Shot? How? Why?"
My heart began to beat rapidly, whoever was shot, it wasn't a good sign for my family.
"Is he okay?"
"You want me to make the bed? Why? You bringing him here?"
I realized it was Jett... And my father refuses to have him in a normal hospital, so he was going to come here, for private treatment.
That day my brother and I were up and about cleaning the spare room, and putting in the hospital equipment. My father and Granddad had spent several years in the private hospital business... So our house was practically one.
I finally took a deep breath and entered my mother's ward. My mother has been bed ridden for six years now, and so she didn't know what was happening outside.
"Hello Ziggy, how are you today?" She coughed.
"Mummy..." I collapsed at the end of the bed and began to cry in fear for my brother's life.
"What's wrong honey?" She asked, she lifted up my head with her frail hands and looked at me in the eyes.
"Jett's dying... He was shot... And daddy is bringing him home to be looked after properly, and I don't think he'll survive!" I sobbed.
I remember my mother giving a smile, like an angel.
"It's going to be okay..." She replied calmly.
"How? He was shot..." I blubbered.
I actually can't remember the last time I referred to my dad as daddy... Sometime when Chester disappeared, or when Jett was run over, or when Greg got stabbed by some angery drunk men.
"Life has given my son a huge gift, and they won't take it away before he can use it..." She smiled again
That night I was awoken yet again by the sound of footsteps and echoing voices.
I ran to the other side of the house and stared in horror, as my little brother was taken to a private ward.
I sat outside for what felt like eternity, I fell asleep for a moment or so... Only to see darkness and my brothers, Jett and Chester disappearing...
I was finally allowed to see him.. Earlier this morning... The room was dull, and the darkness of the night before still remained. I looked over at the bed, it felt as though the reaper was hanging over him.
I moved closer and looked over his pale body, he opened his eyes slightly. and reached to some tubes that were coming from his arms.
"No, son, don't touch them, remember last time..." My father said moving closer and moving his hand away. Jett looked up at him with the essence of pain.
Then suddenly in a flash of hurt in my heart, I remembered the times before... When he was stabbed, ran over, shot... This has happened too many times before.
The doctor called my father, Greg and I out of the room.
"We removed three bullets, one from his shoulder, one from his left leg and one from the side of his stomach, thankfully they missed vital organs, but one fractured a rib, blood loss is definate, and we believe he may be paralysed." He informed us.
I visited Jett again, and more to my delight he was standing at the window, breathing heavily. Which must mean he isn't paralyzed. I walked over to him.
"Jett?" I was worried.
"A bullet... Hit my head... Scraped passed the left hemisphere..." Jett replied, and placed his hand on the glass. "I could hear the sound of the bone in my leg cracking as I was lifted into the sky by the air ambulance." He looked empty...
"I'm so sorry..." I frowned, I felt weak.
"I watched them... As the SWAT team appeared and cuffed them, I am the only one that was in the building... I didn't call for help... How did they know?" Jett looked at me, his eyes seemed soulless.
I looked at his chest, bullet wounds and scars... I couldn't touch him, I couldn't hug him, because he can't cope with it against his skin... He'd freak out.
"I'll go get you a drink, okay?" I ran out of the room, and fetched a drink, when I returned, Jett was back on his bed, a knife in front of him, and blood trickling down his forehead where he had cut under his hair. He looked up at me.
"It's stopped hurting..." He whispered.
I told my dad, by then again, Jett did it last time he was shot, stabbed and touched. All we had to do was to watch him.
I've been feeling empty and terrified since Greg answered the phone... I had to prepare another bed too... Chester is coming back from the war... Injured, not as bad as Jett, I believe, it turned out he was knocked down a large hill, he has broken his arm and has got a concusion... I don't think I can sleep.. I don't know who to talk to. Please Help..
