It's really stupid. And very weak. But once upon a time, around eight years ago my Brother died. I loved him. More than anything. He was like the very perfect brother that anyone could ever have. And today, he popped into my head. I could still see myself, sitting in the car, watching the red lights and sirens when all the noise around me seemed to fade.
My sister was yelling and crying, sick of cursing me. And I was just sitting there. Not moving. There were people everywhere compforting my sisters. But I was alone. I don't remember much of it, just the grave, pale faces and all the screaming and yelling that came my way.
But, for all I know...With all that happened that day...all the yelling and shouting and the rude words that they said to me...
I can't help but think...that it may have been me. Who asked him to run that one, insignificant errand at that time, with that freaking murderer just passing by.
Do they still think about it? Do they feel the pain that I go through every time people mention their family?
I could see him today.
Lying there, eyes empty as he lay on the street, blood coating every fiber of him as well as the ground beneath him.
I felt...sick. And terrible. Like I needed to puke, seeing him there, even just in my head, lifeless and dead.
And today my friends asked me why I was late for school. I just smiled and told a little half-truth like I always day.
Heh. I can just imagine.
What they would try to do if they ever realized, or ever knew.