Rebecca

What's the point of living if you're going to die? Why do you want to be remembered when you're gone? It's not like you feel anything when you're dead. Don't get me wrong, you have your beliefs, and I have mine. I don't believe in things such as afterlife, or heaven and hell. Personally, I think that all they do is prevent people from fearing death. It's a make-belief world where everyone is happy. If people are the cause of your problem (minus the fact that you are majority of your own problem), then what would be so different in those worlds?

I've come to the conclusion that once you die, you're just floating in void. No emotions, no problems, no vision, no sound. Just void, an endless pit of vacuum. Though that's not very different from being alive, is it?

With those thoughts, I glided my hand across the paper, giving the final stroke to my sketch. The one thing that I'm proud of is my art. It's not as good as many artists out there, but it's decent, and reflects my emotions well enough. It's for my eyes only anyways, so it doesn't need to look perfect, just needs to be understood. By me of course. I doubt any other person would actually understand what I'm trying to create. To them, it's a hand covered in paint, a painter painting a canvas with his bare hands. To me, it's a hand covered in blood, the hand being the world. The blood flowing from between the fingers indicated the pain, the sacrifices made, the sorrow. The clean, well-trimmed fingernails indicated the little bit of happiness and humanity that was still left in the world.

Belle, my Bombay cat, rubbed her head against my free hand, slithering her body under my palm such that I was petting her back. I softly smiled at her, before looking at my artwork with pride. Two things that are actually consistent in my life are my art and my cat.

"I wish someone would save us from this hole. It's getting tiring here, don't you think?" I whispered, rhetorically of course. My smile only widened as she cuddled on my lap, rubbing her head on my stomach in comfort. "But I guess we got to save ourselves in this world. Give me some more time, I'll get us out of here. I promise."

I kissed between her ears and stuffed my sketchbook under my mattress. You must be wondering why I still fight if I have no reason to live? Well, it's simple really. I'm not going to leave Belle with my 'family'. I'll first find her a home, and then I'll go. But I need to find the perfect home for her, I'm not going to send her to an animal shelter and risk her not getting adopted by anyone. I will find a home for her, a home which will treat her well, a home which will protect her and keep her happy.

I sighed, leaning back into my pillow, running my hand through Belle's silky fur. I don't let her roam around the house unless my brother and my father aren't home. If it's a good day, I let her out when my brother's home, but if my father sees her, I don't even want to imagine what he would do to her in his drunk state. It was very rare to see him sober, and even rarer to see him home. He usually stays at a hotel, or at the house of whoever he sleeps with at night, or he goes on business trips. So seeing him home and sober definitely came across as a shock yesterday.

My breath quickened at the thought of yesterday, my body heated up as my eyes welled up with tears. I started zoning out, my eyes fixed in the direction of my cupboard which was placed across the room. Sensing the change in me, Belle stood up on her hind paws, using my lap as the base, and put her front paws on my lips. I snapped back to reality and focused my attention on her. She let out a small purr of worry as she rubbed her head against my chin.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. Thank you Belle," I whispered soothingly. She pounced off my lap and went under my bed, probably getting something from under there. She came back with her leash in her mouth. I let out a dry chuckle.

"You wanna go for a walk? Okay then," I whispered, putting the leash on her and tucking her in my jacket before putting my shoes on and silently making my way towards the door. Of course luck was not on my side, cause just as I touched the front door's handle, someone cleared their throat behind me. I quickly turned around, pulling Belle closer to my body out of instinct.

"Where are you going with Belle?" Brian asked, crossing his arms over his chest. A very tiny wave of relief washed over my body. My brother's not as bad as my father. He actually likes Belle, but since mom died, he started neglecting her. He would usually ignore her when I let her out of my room.

I looked at my feet in response, fear overcoming my body. Belle let out a small 'meow' when she sensed my emotions. I swear, she's a lot like an Emotional Support Animal to me. I mumbled my answer, losing the the tiniest amount of bravery that was there while I sneaked out of the apartment.

"Speak up bitch," Brian snapped, causing me to flinch.

"B-Belle wanted to go o-out," I spoke up, my voice barely audible, but that's the best they could get out of me anyways. It was a relief that my brother didn't enforce any rules upon me, except for the fact that i'm not supposed to call him. Stuttering around him wasn't a problem.

"Dad will come home in four hours. If you come later than three and a half hours, I'm not covering up for you or your cat," he spat, walking to the couch and turning the TV off. Moments like those were what I live for. My brother's only mean to me if he's had a bad day. He would never hit me, just yell at me. On good days he'd ignore my existence, and if my dad was supposed to be home and I just so happened to be going somewhere, he would tell me to come home about thirty minutes before.

-

I sighed as Belle casually strolled around the park, pulling me along with her. It was night time, so I didn't really worry about being seen in my track-pants and oversized black sweatshirt. Belle and I only go out at night when father's never home. It's calming when you aren't surrounded by people who will judge for something as simple as breathing.

Glancing at the time, I gently tugged at Belle's leash, earning a soft 'meow' of understanding. She's really smart and very well trained for a three year old cat.

I let Belle lead the way home. She can sniff out danger if it comes down to it, so I let her lead the way home. I trust her instincts, I know she'll safely guide us home.

Little did I know that there were four eyes who had been watching us since we got to the park.

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