..:: GUILT ::..

Sitting there, topless and twirling the Zippo in his hand, burning them with each twirl, sat Brandon on the curb. He was always alone. His appearance scared people off. All the tattoos and piercings and the crazy hair do was just a cover up. Deep down Brandon was scarred, and no I’m not talking about the scar on his neck and back. Brandon wasn’t always like this, 2 years ago if you would have met him, you would say he was the sweetest child who was well educated and came from a nice decent religious family. But after the fire, it all changed. In his wallet he carries a crumpled burn picture of his sister. A guilt no ordinary 17 year old should ever have to feel. Last spring, Alana, Brandon’s girlfriend had got into a fight with him which ended up with them breaking up. Fueled with anger he took all her belongings and pictures and threw them into the metal bin and drowned them in kerosene. He threw the Zippo in. “Burn bitch” were the only words scrolling like a marquee in his head. It was late, his parents and sister was asleep. He left his window open for the smoke to go out, but what he didn’t expect was the strong night winds which spread the fire, which was on the floor, to the curtain which was engulfed in flames in no second. The fire spread to his six year old sister’s room in which she was fast asleep. It was too late and not matter how hard Brandon tried to run into save her, the barrister collapsed. He was left with second degree burns and the blame of killing his sister. His parents have never treated him the same ever since. He was shut out and hated by them. He had taken away their baby girl, who could never be replaced. A tattoo of his sister, right in the middle of his back symbolizes him carrying her on his shoulder as what should have been on the night of the fire. Also a chest piece tattoo with a heart on fire. Another metaphor for what else that burnt that night. The piercings on his body could not compare to the piercing pain in his heart when he heard his sister screaming trapped in the room. The flashbacks and memories haunt him to this very day. Now, in rehab, when it was activity time for the patients, Brandon sits there on the curb, cursing his parents for putting him in this nut hole as he throws his rosary into the drain. “There is no God”. Also those words are inked at the side of his arm in bold old English fonts. There is nothing that he can do but stare at the picture of his sister in on hand while twirling the Zippo in the other burning his fingers with every twirl and waiting for the bell to ring calling them in for dinne