For the first, I want to tell my readers that the whole story is fictional and has NO connection with real life or real persons. Any type of similarity is purely coincidental.

Suddenly, I felt something—deep depression or maybe anxiety. I can't say exactly; maybe I felt both at the same time. All I wanted while sitting in that dark room was one thing, and its name was peace. I had always dreamed of feeling that. In other words, I was sick of longing for peace because my entire life, all I had was suffering since the day I was born.

My mother died in the hospital while giving birth to me. I didn't even have a father because he left my mom when she told him she was pregnant. But I always used to thank God for one thing that was good in my life: my brother. We were twins. His name was John. He had almost the same appearance as I did, except for one thing: he had blonde, straight hair unlike my dark curls.

I was still sitting there in the room that belonged to us. John was at work, so I had to stay at home alone until my aunt and her husband came back from work. She worked in a huge cinematic company where she helped with actors' makeup. Unlike my pretty and sweet aunt, her husband was an asshole. I don't usually use that kind of word, but it perfectly described him. He hated me and John. Most of all, he hated John because, since childhood, he always asked questions about our parents.

He was the kind of kid who couldn't sit still, waiting for someone to do everything for him. He always liked to figure things out and handle everything on his own, and that's why Tony always hated him. He thought someday John would become someone more than just being his pet. I know that some people might find it tough, but John did everything Tony needed. I can clearly remember one day Tony asked him to make cow sounds in front of his classmates. After that, he beat him and made him sleep in the storage room—all because he ate a little more rice.

I've never been like him. I was a coward. I was literally a coward. My whole life, everything I had done was to listen to that old piece of shit judging my family. And now I'm in my room again, holding a knife in my hands, trying to kill myself because he said something I can never forget.

I stood, took a little piece of paper, and started to write my last words before doing it.

"To my dear John and Ann,

I'm tired. My entire life, I tried to be someone you both would love. For you to know, I always loved you both, even though I knew you never loved me. At least you gave me a home, my dear aunt Ann. I know it's not a perfect home. Sometimes I even think this is the worst place I could ever possibly live, but that doesn't change anything. You saw me grow and gave me food every single day, which I'm grateful for.

John, I know you don't even give a shit about me. You always hated me because I was a coward and never did something special like you do every single day. I had no talents or any power to handle the problems in my life like you do. Don't ever lose your talent as an artist. I know you can be someone—someone special. So be him for me, even though you don't love me.

I tried, I really did, but I guess this life is not for me. God bless you two, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I've done.

Your dear Henry."

I cried. It had already been a few minutes since I stared into the mirror of my room, looking at myself and thinking what a terrible person I was. In the end, I hoped I would see Christ after death. I almost cut myself, but suddenly, the door opened, and John stopped me.