Aunt April

Two years ago today, April died.


That’s the short story.  But, I wanna tell the long story, because it’s a terrible story, and it’s pressing me down, making me doubt people.  


She was short, like right above the legal height limit for midgets, and had long, wavy dirty blonde hair.  She had two kids, with two husbands.  The first (I’ll call him Alan) was diagnosed with ADHD.  He was often super energetic and none of the other cousins (save for me and my sister; we loved him and thought he was awesome) liked him.  He was annoying.

The second child was a little girl (who’s”name” shall be…Anne).  She was, and still is, a love.  Although, she was a bit bratty as a little girl.  But she had huge blue eyes and blonde ringlets, and loved to color.

Alan was born to April’s first husband, and Anne to her second.  After she divorced her first husband, she moved to a different town.  There, she met Nathan, her second husband.  They married, had Anne, and were together for a few years.

There was always something off about him.  My dad and my other uncle had been in the armed forces; Dad in light infantry and my uncle in the marines.  They both had war stories, and methods of fighting that they taught my sister and I, though it was mostly Dad that did that.

But anyway, Nathan, when he started hanging out with Dad, started saying that he was in the army too.  But, whatever he taught me was usually a backpack off of what Dad had just said.

One time, we were goofing off in the kitchen, and Dad and I started to play fight.  He then taught me several methods of hitting someone in a way that broke their nose, but didn’t harm you.

Nathan jumped in with advice to do that with one’s elbow, as well.  At the time, I thought it silly.

He and April went through a lot of tough times.  Finally, she caught him cheating on her, and divorced him.  When the custody of the kids didn’t go to him, he said that he didn’t even really want Alan because he wasn’t his kid; all he wanted was Anne.

Well, April wouldn’t let it happen.



A couple years later, he called her while she was cleaning out one of the closets.  It had a shotgun in it; loaded and primed.  She kept it there in case she needed to defend herself in a robbery or something.

We don’t know what exactly was said, but basically she was told that she was a terrible mother.



She shot herself in the left shoulder.  That asswipe heard the shot, but waited a half hour to call her priest to check in on her.  He told the man that she sounded kinda down, and that he was worried about her.  It took the guy ten minutes to get there.

She died about twelve thirty in the morning, on July seventh, two-thousand and twelve.



It’s been two years now.  Here’s hoping to it getting easier.



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