Ethan slumped further into the worn armchair in his room, the silence of his room pressing in on him like a physical weight. The afternoon sun, usually a cheerful presence, merely cast long, oppressive shadows across the floor of room.
His older brothers, Liam and Noah, were off at college, their lives seemingly brimming with purpose and ambition. Liam, the eldest, was already interning at a prestigious law firm, while Noah was excelling in his engineering studies. Their rooms, usually a chaos of books and discarded clothes, now stood starkly neat, monuments to their absence.
His younger sisters, Lily and Daisy, were away too, enjoying the carefree days of summer at their grandparents' sprawling farm. He could almost hear their delighted giggles echoing in the empty halls.
Ethan, the middle of five, felt adrift. He wasn't burdened by the weighty expectations that rested on Liam and Noah's shoulders, the unspoken pressure to achieve and succeed. But neither was he pampered and doted upon like his younger sisters, their every whim seemingly indulged.
He just… existed.
A forgotten placeholder in the grand tapestry of his family's life. He picked at a loose thread on the armrest, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. Life, he mused, simply sucked.
It was a tedious, unrewarding endeavor, a bleak landscape of routine and disappointment.
His mind drifted back to his elementary and middle school years, a period stained with the bitter memory of relentless bullying. The tormentors, their faces blurred by time but their cruelty sharp as ever, had not only physically hurt him but had also masterfully framed him, twisting narratives until he was painted as the culprit. They had walked away without a scratch, their reputations unscathed, while his own had been dragged through the mud, a permanent tarnish on his name. The injustice had festered, a poison seeping into his very being, cultivating a deep-seated belie
Why bother, when the world was so inherently skewed against you?
Ethan rose slowly from the armchair, the television murmuring softly from the lounge where his father, David Aquah, sat engrossed in a sports game. The scent of garlic and herbs drifted from the kitchen, a clear sign his mother, Sarah Aquah, was preparing dinner. Yet, despite the comforting sounds and smells of home, an icy silence enveloped Ethan, a profound loneliness that even the presence of his parents couldn't thaw. He wandered around his bedroom, the familiar space feeling suddenly alien, a mere shell around his suffocating despair.
His eyes fell on a crumpled piece of paper on his desk, an old school assignment. With a shaky hand, he picked up a pen.
"I can't do this anymore," he scrawled, the ink blurring slightly.
"I never asked for this life. There's nothing here for me. Goodbye."
It was stark, raw, a final surrender. He folded it clumsily, placing it prominently on his pillow.
His gaze drifted to the open window. A cool breeze stirred the curtains, but it offered no balm to the burning ache in his chest.
His mind replayed the memory, vivid and agonizing, of yesterday's walk home from school with Olivia, or Liv, as he affectionately called her. His childhood friend.
The girl he secretly, loved.
They'd been chatting about a mundane school assignment, a seemingly innocent conversation, and his heart had swelled with the familiar, hopeful ache whenever she was near.
He'd almost confessed, the words teetering on his tongue as they crossed the Ravenwood Bridge, its sturdy arch spanning the murky river below.
"…and honestly, it's just so boring when Chloe and Sarah are busy," Liv had chirped. "That's why hanging out with you is great, Ethan, it's a perfect way to just kill time until my friends are free again."
The words, so casually spoken, landed like a physical blow. The air solidified around him. His old trauma, the feeling of being used, of being a mere convenience, flared back with blinding intensity. He fell silent, his gaze dropping to the churning water below.
"You know," he said, his voice flat, detached.
"I sometimes wonder what death by drowning would be like. Is it a struggle, or… does it get peaceful?" He remembered the unsettling intensity in his own voice, the way he'd stared, almost mesmerized, at the dark current.
Liv had just chuckled, a light, airy sound that grated against his raw nerves.
"Oh, Ethan," she'd said, waving a dismissive hand, "you always talk about that when we cross this bridge. You're no fun."
"No fun." That's all he was to her. A diversion, a means to an end. His crush, his aching desire for more, evaporated into a bitter ash.
He felt alone.
Truly alone.
He glanced one last time at the note on his pillow, at the open window beckoning him towards the dark promise of the river. Then, with a chilling resolve, he slipped out of his room, his steps silent as he headed for the front door.