Backwards

by Momar Van Der Camp

He killed himself. He went and did something stupid. He wouldn’t. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He went and gave the world a reason to forget about him and move on to bigger and better things that he never could, even though his parents had always wanted him to go onto something bigger and better for himself, something they could be proud of, something like a doctor or lawyer or some other such person who saved lives or healed pain. Some stupid kid who went and did something so incredibly stupid that people wanted to forget about him and all of his troubles and every last word he had ever spoken for the sake of healing themselves in a way that he never could and never even thought to. All it was was some stupid kid. It wasn’t much of anything. But it wasn’t. It could have been any number of things. It could have been a misunderstanding.