Every time I close my eyes the vision of my brother's lifeless body, blood dripping from his fragile hand onto my face, stains my eyelids. There is not a day that goes by where I don’t wish it was me instead of him. I know my parents feel the same way. They can’t even look at me. Haven’t really since the funeral. I don’t blame them, though. It’s my fault that John isn’t here. I know it, they know it, everybody knows it.
About the Creator
Alexa Hirsch
Everybody has a voice. Some are loud, almost deafening and others are so quiet you barely even notice that they're there. All voices should be heard - here's mine - I hope you take the time to hear it.
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