A phrase unspoken, a lifetime of regret

Her parents were fighting again.

She sniffled and ducked out of the room. It had become a common occurrence; she didn't need to experience it again. Darting upstairs, she shut herself in her shabby room, ready to wait out the argument. The girl locked the door, then proceeded to sink down on the floor in defeat, giving in to heartbroken sobbing. She could recall a better time, a time when her parents actually seemed to love each other. But it was gone, faded away when her brother died years ago.

He had been a wonderful child, with exceptional grades and a good-natured attitude. He had braces and glasses like any common nerd. He was amazed at everything and wholeheartedly believed that all was a miracle, from the tiniest ant to the largest skyscraper. At least that's how she pictured him. His death made it evident that not everyone understood her older brother.

It was his classmates that were the murderers. Hunter had been a victim of constant harassment. Perhaps he was just too good, so good that those who should've looked up to him turned against him. Pushed on the bus, tripped in hallways, shoved into lockers; all typical crimes by bullies.

Yet they'd done something else to him, traumatized Hunter in some unspeakable way. His grades dropped, his attitude changed ... his whole view on the world was altered. No longer did he shout out at miracles, overflow with ideas, nor speak to her in that kind way with eyes full of warmth and say, "Faith, I'm so proud of you."

Instead, his eyes held infinite despair, veiled by a thin layer of anger and spite. His madness showed on the outside, but his parents paid no mind, believing that he was going through some sort of "rebellious phase." To Faith, they were just as responsible for Hunter's death as his classmates - but she supposed that rendered her guilty, too.

No one was prepared for what came next, remaining peacefully oblivious until the end. Her parents woke up one morning and, not finding her brother, assumed he'd left for school early. Honestly, Faith thought they were glad to get rid of him for a while; his miserly personality hurt everyone. When he didn't return after school, they deduced that he was spending the night at a friend's house. It wasn't until the following morning that they heard about him.

It was all over the news: a body had been found in a nearby river, drowned. In the dead boy's pocket was a suicide note that said only two words. And these were Hunter's last two words: I'm sorry.

Faith sighed and shivered at the recollection. The event never should've happened. Hunter never should've died. He thought that he was completely and utterly alone, that he had no one to consult with. He honestly believed that no one in the world could've helped him. And that was what really upset her.

He could've spoken to practically anybody about his plight and they would've helped. If only he had told someone, "I need your help," or simply whispered, "I'm having a tough time right now ... "

Hunter would've continued with his life, never bothered by his classmates again because of his elders' interference, until he reached a ripe old age. He didn't deserve the ending that he got; just a few words could've altered his life. Secretly, Faith resented those authorities who hadn't caught Hunter in time and steered him in the right direction.

But she supposed that such thoughts weren't exactly fair. She herself could have provided those words. If only she had said, "Hunter, I'm so proud of you," just the way he used to say to her. She was his faithful little sister, his friend to rely on. And she could have saved him with one simple phrase.

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