"The thorn in my side."

"She'll be with you shortly," the receptionist said. "Have a seat over there for now."
I numbly nodded as I gingerly looked around the room before planting my arse on the recommended seat. I inwardly groaned. It was not as comfy as it looked. Mahogany bookcases with brightly coloured books peeping out from shadowy shelves lined the walls making the room look and feel smaller than it really was. My hands repeatedly knotted and unknotted themselves as I anxiously watched her tap intelligently at her computer.
My mind drifted until my eyes rested on a painting of a bearded, strict-looking old man clasping a large, golden pocket-watch in his left hand. With his right hand, he authoritatively pointed to a stormy sky above him.
Time. It's a funny concept. People go on about how much of it there is and how much Time we have, yet the truth is that we don't actually have that much Time. You're born, you crawl, walk, run, grow, learn, work, work, work and then die. And in between of all that, is Time.
In addition, they (who are "they" anyway?) say that Time is a great healer of things. Time makes it all better in the end. If anything, they should encapsulate Time in a tablet and have it on prescription to everyone because sometimes there is not enough Time to heal certain wounds, make scars disappear and erase memories.
Sounds, sights, smells - I wish I could get rid off them all. But there is not enough Time for that to happen nor any form of prescribed medication some jumped-up Doctor could give me.

Blurred scenes play every time I close my eyes. The care-free childhood, innocent laughter, playing on the swings and days of ever-lasting sunshine before the dark clouds came to steal the sun. To steal our happiness. My brother. And my smile forever.
They came in the night and woke us up with loud voices and flashlights in our faces. They shoved funny bags over my parents' heads and kicked them outside. We screamed, we cried, we begged and we prayed for Superman to come save us. But he didn't come. My frightened fingers grasped my brother's as we sat in our pyjamas paralysed with fear.
They shouted at us,barked orders, and pushed us towards the front door. I held my brother's hand firmly in mine as we stumbled in the dark. Frightened splutters and squeals escaped from our little lips every time we stubbed our toes or lost grip on each other's hands. Coarse fingers pushed our heads down, poked our shoulders and forced us out into the night air. The moon leered at us from her throne in the sky as we clutched at each other. We watched them smoke cigarettes and laugh loudly. We shivered as the wind wrapped itself around our little bodies, tears silently falling down our cheeks and holding each other's hands.
Suddenly two of them came towards us - like baddies in films, but there was no hero to come save us.
I desperately looked at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of crimson and blue. It was a deathly, quiet night. The stars silently glimmered as they bore witness to two children crying for their parents and praying for someone to save them. Two children holding onto each other's hands as they trembled in the face of an unknown darkness about to descend upon them.
One of them grabbed my brother and I felt myself being carried away. I screamed, cried and tried to scratch my way towards my brother. I heard him crying, shouting and calling my name as he was carried away in the opposite direction. The cries grew fainter and fainter until I could hardly hear them. I strained my little ears craving to hear my brother's voice. To hear him say my name once more. To say his name. To cheekily smile at each other before sneaking up on our mum. To count our missing teeth and compare how much the tooth fairy had given us. To sit on our dad's lap after a long day at school and watch the news with him.
I kicked, pushed, cried and struggled only to be hit in the face. Darkness swallowed me in its greed and I drowned in its hopelessness with my brother's screams and cries ringing in my ears, my mind and my heart for years to come.