"Hi, my name is Aubrey Landhigh," I stammer. "My sister was shot and killed when I was twelve. It's been five years since I've seen her."

"Hi, Aubrey," they all chant back, eyes looking everywhere but at me.

Doctor Haven coughs, and then looks at me expectantly. I stare blankly at her for a moment before remembering to say the sacred words: "I know now that she's still with us."

The Doc smiles and stands up. "Let's give a round of applause for Aubrey," she suggests, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

There is only one person who cares enough to clap. He is an elderly man with bigger moles than eyes, and uncomfortable with his appearance, I quickly look away.

The Doc motions to my seat and I take it. "Now," she starts. "Today's topic is grief. Would anyone like to tell me what that is?"

A dozen arms shoot up, including mine. The Doc does this weird neck move, as if recoiling, before saying, "Would anyone like to guess what I think grief is?"

Eleven hands shoot down, including mine. A young risk-taker by the name of Elena still raises her hand proudly, her chin slightly jutting out from her body as she looks the Doc in the eyes.

"Yes, Elena?"

"Grief is a concept of a state of mind that cannot possibly be achieved, as it is a direct result of a loss of something or someone. We have learned that we cannot lose something or someone under no circumstances, so under no circumstances is grief a real emotion."

The Doc smiles. "Exactly. Now, most of you do not agree with this statement. Please, be brave and raise your hands to tell me about the time that you thought you felt grief."

Eleven hands slowly creep back into the air. The Doc makes eye contact with a quivering woman of about thirty; she's new here, so I don't know her name or her story.

"I felt grief-"

"No, you didn't," the Doc interjects rudely. "You just thought you felt grief." She pauses for a moment, and the woman is frozen, eyes big, waiting for some sort of command. "You can continue," the Doc throws at her.

The woman moves her eyes down and shakes her head, as if waking herself up. "I felt- or rather, I thought I felt grief when my house was burnt down and my husband and one son died."

The audience, except for the Doc, stops for a few seconds to take this in. Several faces contort into misery(if misery actually is real), and the elderly man who clapped for me is wiping a moist set of tears away.

It is then that I remember his story. He is the man that used to have five children with his ex-wife, until his ex-wife went crazy and killed the kids and herself.

"Well, Miss...." The Doc says, not clearly remembering the lady's name.

"Davenport, " she mumbles out.

"Well, Miss Davenport, " the Doc says reassuringly. "I'm sure you realize that your husband, son and house are not gone, but rather on, well, a vacation of sorts. You may not see them around you, but they are there." She pauses for effect. "And believe me when I say, they are watching."

Miss Davenport shrinks away from the Doc.

The Doc turns her eyes away from Miss Davenport and turns to me. "Aubrey," she swoons. "Care to describe the time when you thought grief came into your life?"

By this time my answers are rehearsed, but no matter how many times I go through my routine I can never bring myself to say them, so instead I blabber out my true beliefs.

"I did have grief," I say. The Doc tries to cut me off, but I start screaming.

"MY SISTER DIED WHEN I WAS TWELVE. NO CHILD DESERVES TO GO THROUGH THAT. YOU SAY THAT SHE'S STILL HERE, BUT SHE'S NOT. WANT TO KNOW HOW I KNOW?"

The room is silent.

My voice is quieter, but shaking when I finish with, "If my sister was still here, she would protect me from places like this."

The audience is noiseless. The Doc's face is a brilliant shade of scarlet, and her body is as shaky as my voice was. "Aubrey, how many times do I have to tell you this?," the Doc stammers out. "Your sister would have no need to protect you from places like this," she says, motioning around her, "because places like this are not dangerous. They will not hurt you. Instead, they help you. They give you reality, Aubrey. Please, for once, be brave enough to take it."

I avoid her gaze as she sighs. "Meet here tomorrow, same time, all right? I want you guys to think about good memories tonight. Good memories!"

The others pack up their things and leave, but I know deep inside that the Doc wants me to stay.

She walks around, playing with tiny gadgets on her desk, until the last person has left the room.

"Aubrey, you do that again and I'm sending you to Stonybrook," she threatens.

Stonybrook. The highly guarded mental facility. Even more secure than here.

I bow my head in what I hope looks like respect, and then exit through the door. Walking through the dimly lit halls, I find my room and slide my backpack off of my shoulders before collapsing into the pile of feathers that I call my bed.

I remember that I'm supposed to think of a happy thought. The problem is, with my sister's death invading my mind almost all of the time, it's hard to think of a happy thought. The best I can do is think of a time, right before she died, when me and her were picking apples at the orchard together. The sun was radiating though our skin, and we wore matching yellow sundresses. I was laughing at her attempts to balance apples on her head, and she was smiling at me, glowing as she tried, to no avail, to finish her life's purpose.

The memory brings a faint trace of a smile to my lips. No matter how many times the Doc reminds me, I will never believe that my sister is still with me. She's gone now. That doesn't mean that I can't be happy, though.

Grief is many things. Grief is depression, grief is anger, but most of all, grief is hope. I cling to that last memory of my sister's life because it gives me hope. Hope, that maybe someday, I can sit down in an open orchard and balance apples on my head and laugh as they tumble to the ground, bruising but not breaking. Hope, that maybe someday, the grief will get better.