Silence. Its loudness bangs against my head, beating it over and over again. Why is it all that surrounds me? Why does it follow my every interaction? No one remembers me. No one. I am forgotten—a lost memory to all those I once knew. My parents, siblings, friends—none recognize my face. Just silence. They all slap me with silence.

It’s been a little over a day since the last attempt. I tried to speak with my brother, to help him remember me. To make him remember me. It was no use. I cried to him, pleading for him to say my name, to acknowledge my existence. He wouldn’t. He said he didn’t want to pretend to have a brother.

It hurt more than a bullet to the abdomen. I struggled to breathe for a bit, to process that I am no longer. Death is less gone than me.

I grabbed my brother. Watched as his eyes no longer stared past me but widened as I squeezed his throat. I grinned. Finally, he will feel an ounce of what I feel. He’s lucky. Physical pain hurts much less than mental. His arms flailed at his sides, finally acknowledging that I have an impact on his world. I can remove him from it.

But I don’t. I slowly loosen my grip. Satisfied—for but a moment. Finally seen.

But it isn’t enough. And it doesn't last. Soon, the satisfaction is replaced. It begins to burn. Tearing at my insides, as the memory of his eyes pierces my mind. It doesn't leave, and while everyone around me forgets, I struggle to.

More than the acknowledgment I crave is the relationship—something that cannot come through force.

My identity is melting away. My solitude is suffocating. My life is slipping.

Where are my parents? Where are the people who cared for me my entire life? Their eyes are no longer filled with love, but instead with distance—and a hint of pity.

They pity me.

They think I am the lost one. But I am not the one who has forgotten. I am not the one who strayed.

They did.

I am merely a casualty.

I think.