The stars blink in and out of the inky black night. Blues and purples sit where the sunrise was just minutes ago. It would be beautiful, I think to myself, if my family were here to see it.

My brother was buried next to Mom on the hill by the sunflower patch. Dad’s out somewhere, probably at the bar. I’m worried for him. Alcohol is really bad for people. I don’t want Dad to leave, too. I know it’s childish to think like that. I should be more mature, after everything that’s happened.

You're only thirteen, a nagging voice in my head tells me. You’re allowed to be childish. I shake my head, trying to get the voice of reason out. I don’t care. I was the one to slow Mom down as we ran from the fire, I was the one that didn’t stop Claus from trying to leave, I never bonded enough with Dad for him to love me. It’s my fault.

As I lay against the ground., and the tears fall into the grass, I wish on a passing star that in another universe, this never happened. That we grew up together, instead of me passing my twin’s age. That my mother was still here petting my head, instead of being remembered as “The casualty.” That my father taught me to whittle and fish and build, instead of ignoring my existence.

I wish that I could still be a kid.