After Staring at the motionless face of what once was your little brother, you make your descision. Bring him inside. You bend down and slide your arm under his head, your arm becomes slick with blood. Your other arm underneath his knees, you stumble trying to stand up. 

 

You walk quickly, making sure nobody sees you, although the closest neighbor is more than a mile up the road. Once inside, you decide to take him to the one place you almost always hung out; your bedroom. 

 

You set him down as carefully as possible on your white rug on the floor. His blood stains it almost immeadiately. 

 

"Andrew..." you whimper softly. 

 

Tears stream down your face, and landing on his hand, in which you clutched tightly to your chest. 

 

You know you should be more resposible than this, you should be using your head, and call someone. But nothing else is going through your mind except one thing. Andrew. Andrew as a baby. Andrew growing up, him telling her he couldn't wait to be big just like her. 

 

And now that wouldn't be possible, he would never grow old, never make a difference in this world. It just wouldn't happen. 

 

Your sobs come out loud and ugly, sounding almost like an animal. 

 

A little voice in your head tells you to get up, and so you do, clutching onto anything that will keep you afloat. Anything that would distract you from the lifeless body on her bedroom floor. 

 

You walk over to your bedside table and pick up your cellphone.