No. This- this can’t be happening. There’s still bubbles in the water, he could still-pop. The bubbles are gone. The lake is still once more. I scream, I shout, I hurtle any thing I can find into the water. But it only excepts them with a small plop.

It doesn’t know I’ve just lost my brother to its icy depths. It doesn’t know how he never learned to swim because he vowed to never go near water again, after- after dad...

The guilt hits me quickly. Like waves, drowning me. I shouldn’t have made him come here, I should never have tried to cure his fear of water. But here I am, in one of those little rental rowing boats you can get on pretty much any lake, staring in to the black water where my brother just fell.

I shall never move again. I shall lay here, curled up in a little ball, shivering and weeping.

My brother was smart to fear the water after what happened to dad. I was stupid. I did the opposite, I joined the local kayaking team, the swim team, anything to do with water. I thought I needed exposure. But here I am. And the worst thing is, my brother just died in the exact same way my dad did, five years ago toady.