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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
A story based on the thoughts of a teenage boy who lost his brother.

Submitted: October 08, 2011

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Submitted: October 08, 2011




I disappeared into the bed and kept my eyes on glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars from my childhood. I had never bothered taking them down. I traced the stars with my finger, a small smile on my face. I felt like I was five again, looking up in wonder. I had wondered why real stars were never as nice as the cheap, plastic ones I had on my ceiling. And I had deemed my sky as the most beautiful thing I could fall asleep to. I hadn't experienced much in life; I figured life would never be better.

I was going to be an only child. I liked being an only child. I basked in the attention given to me by both my parents. I had always been privileged, being lucky enough to be in one of the wealthiest families of the state. I was spoiled endlessly. I looked just like Mom, with her golden blonde hair and her bright brown eyes. She loved the fact that I turned out to be just like her: quiet, intellectual, caring. Dad was more stubborn than anything, but I him wrapped around my finger.

When Wilson was born, everything changed. Wilson was premature, and he came with lots of problems. Mom lived and breathed Wilson, every second of every day. Dad began to spend less time at home, more time working to pay for all the medical bills. I lingered around, waiting for things to go back to normal. I waited for Wilson to get better so he wouldn't have to take six pills a day. I waited for Dad to stop working from six in the morning to eight. I waited for Mom to tuck me in at night again. I waited for everyone to stop asking if Wilson was going to die.


Wilson died when he was four. He would never have to take six pills a day. Dad started working from six to twelve. Mom eventually gave up on everything, including us. She left without a word and we never saw her again. 

Everyone stopped asking about Wilson.

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