I sat in my bedroom, the black and white stripes surrounding me. Why did I even paint my room this way? It seemed like a good idea at first, until a few weeks after I painted it. It was four twenty six in the morning and I was listening to Brand New.  My stomach was churning and my mouth had the after taste of old milk and copper. Somehow I was not tired at all, in spite of the late hour of the morning.

            There I was, looking up God on Wikipedia, trying to find God the easiest way I could. Somehow it wasn’t working out quite as I had planned. The day was spinning around in my head, and I couldn’t get the voices out of my head, despite how loud my music was. My little brother was still there in my mind, telling me to come upstairs for family time. I refused completely to go up with him. If only they would have stayed home with me instead of going to my Grandparents.

            Let me start at the beginning. My name is Carter Wilson, and I am utterly alone. My family died earlier in the day, and I was the only survivor. All because I was too stubborn to go to my Grandparents house. Generally I would, but today I was feeling particularly gloomy and I had no desire to go with them. My little brothers were hugging me and telling me to come with them. I still felt like if I walked out of my room they would be there with me, waiting out in the living room. But they were all dead.

            My Dad was driving down the old road in Spanish Fork to get to Payson when a car came out of a blind driveway and hit them head on. The car flipped twice, and my parents were rolled into a canal. They all died shortly thereafter, before the medical team could come to help them. It was all my fault, and I knew it. I held the knife in my hands, intending to go with them now. Why should I be here, when it was me who put them in their graves? I should have been the one to die, not them. They were all so good, so loving and gentle. If anything, I was the complete opposite.

            Tears were once again welling up in my eyes and I couldn’t stop myself from going into convulsions again. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t exist, I shouldn’t exist. Why did this have to happen to me, to them? Finally I found a picture of what I thought God should look like. He seemed so peaceful, knowing that he killed my family. It was more his fault then it was mine, in many ways. But he gave us this life, and so he could also take it away.

            It was all so unfair. They were such great people and there was no reason why God should have taken them from me, or from the world. Riley, my youngest brother of ten years, was so full of potential. He was the brightest kid in class and he showed it. Every day after school he had a new story to tell us, or a new progress report to have my parents sign. I had never known a child who had more compassion and love than him. He had such a positive energy towards life in general. I don’t ever recall seeing him upset at anyone without a very god reason behind it.

            Then there was Austin, my brother of seventeen. He was such a funny kid, he never knew what he was going to do with his life, but he didn’t care. All he really wanted was friends and family by his side. I guess that’s really all that does matter in the end, anyway. He was such a good kid, he tried to keep his spirits up even when he was feeling down and dark.

            I couldn’t take it anymore; I started to cut the knife down into my leg. I watched as blood slowly surfaced and trickled down through the small amount of hair I had on my legs. The pain of the cut seemed to lessen the pain of the loss I had suffered. I took a deep breath and coughed a few times before I felt any better.

            Then the memories came flooding in of my parents. Kent and Loni, two people who had done more for others than they had for themselves. They kept trying to help people in need, even if they were already thousands in debt. My good friend Brandon was called to serve on a mission, and they said they would help make the payments for him each month.

            I couldn’t get over the fact that they were really gone. I kept thinking I would just go upstairs and my mom and brother would be doing school on the laptop, or that Riley would be making a sandwich for school the next day. But I knew that if I did go upstairs, I would find an empty house, and empty beds, other then the neighbor who said she would stay here in case I needed anything.

            It felt so unreal, everything was a blur. My eyes still stung from the constant tears that had been pouring like the rain outside. If I couldn’t get it to stop, I might rust over. I was such a selfish horrible kid to my parents. Why didn’t I just grow up normal like the other kids? I had to be the one who caused my parents the most trouble though school and snuck out all the time. Not only that, but I got bad grades, and the BIG whammy was me being gay.

            Yeah, I’m gay. Surprised, are you? Well it shouldn’t be one you know, I bet you know more than you think you do. But why would any gay person want to come out to their friends or family when gays are regarded as evil, so evil that they belong in the things that crawl in the dark category. Society lives in constant fear of us gays, and why? It’s because of how people are brought up. If people were told from the beginning that to be gay is ok, to be straight is ok, etc, then there would not be any problems.