Poor Jack. He loved his little brother.
Here I am, Jack. I can remember this day like it was yesterday. I had come downstairs from my bedroom to make my lunch. I made a snack before. I was ready and I grabbed my backpack and walked out the door. I usually walked to school with my friends.
Though when I got there, a man with weird clothes and looked like he hadn't had a shower in weeks, was standing over a body. I walked over to the body and I saw blood! The man dropped something. A knife! I knew that boy.
He was my little brother. He had gotten a ride to school with his friends, which was before I left. It seemed that my brother was dying. I didn't know what to do? I was in shock.
He was taken to the hospital. My mom and I were in the waiting room when we got the news. It wasn't the best news. It seems that my brother was dead. His wound was to big and bad to be healed, in time. My mom and I cried like there was no tomorrow. My mom cried out, " Why? Why my baby?" She cried harder.
A few months later I was still traumatized. I eventually lost my mind and tried to commit suicide. So my mom sent me to this place. She said I was to "recover" and it was for my "safety". I knew what this place was. It was an Insane Asylum.
It has been a few years later and I am still in this asylum. I had written about that day since the first day I was in here. Though my little brother visits me everyday. He says that he visits mom too. She doesn't notice him though. He didn't look any different from when he died. He looked really peaceful.