That night, we all heard the blare of a gunshot go off in our own home, my heart set ablaze as thoughts of home invasion raced through my mind. It didn’t take long to discover the remains of my brother’s head in his room, the door left open so we could all see his masterpiece. It didn’t take long before both my parents landed in a sobbing heap at the end of his bed, screaming, as I paced and phoned proper authority. To come clean up the mess of my brother, the one thing that meant everything to us at one point. And now he was just… gone. Also See: I found an iPhone on the ground and what I found in its photo gallery terrified me..
My brother had been a bit simplistic and spent a lot of time reading and occasionally playing video games. He had a decent amount of friends who admitted to seeing a decrease in his good moods, no girlfriend, not a troublemaker. I’m not saying that there’s always some huge, elaborate reason why people commit suicide, but he just didn’t seem like the type to make a rash decision like that, knowing that if something was wrong he could have come to any one of us.