CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 718
Are you an only child? Write about your siblings or lack thereof.
I am not a man for children. Never have been, and I never will be. As a child, I was a responsible, clear headed person, my own present self in miniature, as some of the lax headed receptionists at the lab may say. Thinking it through thoughtfully, however, I was, in every possible way, neat, tidy and well behaved. I saw the world through different eyes than of my peers, whose need to play infantile ball games far outstripped their desire to read books, or acquire knowledge about the big bad world which, in some years time, all of them would be thrown into, head first. Therefore it is perhaps, quite fortunate that the normality of my childhood ended so early as it did. Playing the role of suffering orphan, it gave me a lot of time to myself, a lot of time to get on with life and to learn about the future I was headed towards.
Suffice to say, I never had siblings. No brothers or sisters to play with, or to annoy, or to wheedle at for favours. My father was a good man, he loved me, but parenthood had not been an idea he had spent a whole lifetime wanting. He merely warmed to it in the years preceding my birth, seeing during those times of hardship and fighting, how valuable life really was. Perhaps, like so many men of his age, he had always wanted an heir to carry on his legacy, but I will never be sure of this, never having gotten to know him longer than the eight and a bit years I was conscious in his presence. Even then, a person such as myself can readily admit that the thoughts of a boy still possess some minor differences to those of a man. If not many, I had no desire for parenthood, that errant whim played out in dollhouse fantasies, and many decades later I still desire nothing of the sort.
As it is, I have never known my parents in any more an intimate way than I could gather from eight years of experiences, as well as from the possessions they left behind after they were murdered. Even with all the evidence of their existence laid bare before me, I have never been able to tell whether I was destined in those early years, to have a little brother or a sister. It is certain, however, from what my aunt explains to me, that I was the first child. In my family, we are simple and honest, and there weren’t any children that didn’t live, or were conceived and never made it to birth. Having never lived closely with a child of any sorts, in a family or friendly setting, I have never known what it is like, that experience, but to be boldly honest, I don’t regret it.
When I was a child, I thought with the mental acuity of someone far beyond my years. Oh, yes, I had my moments, playing with model planes, and running races, but, that was life. Once normality ended during those Christmas time festivities, things changed, life changed, I changed, and thus ended the possibility of siblings. Speaking more broadly, of children at general, mine or not, I was even married, I did even, briefly, contend the idea of having my own child. Michelle and I, we even discussed it once or twice, we even, contended the idea as something that could be a reality. Yet, life doesn’t go like that, it never does.
I have handled some cases involving children during the course of my job, I have seen freshly made orphans, all because of the vicious hands of some jilted ex-lover, or some crack head high on some new concoction splashed out on the streets. Most of them have people left, most of them will go on to be something more vibrant than what I am, and somewhere, in another time, I might be happy for them, instead of merely satisfied that my job was done and dusted with. I am not happy for them though, I do not feel happy anymore. Just like I do not have any siblings, or any children of my own, I do not feel happiness, and for any of these things, I never will.