“He’s right there!” He yelled turning his head back and forth. “Where?!” I shouted.

I was always pissed at him. Always angry. If my love for him was a scale, the fact that he was my brother was the only small stone keeping any feeling for him alive in my heart. My brother was always paranoid. We would be walking to the McDonald’s a mile from our house and he would look behind himself like a million times. When it got bad he would shout, “There he is! He’s coming, he’s coming!” “Shut up! Just shut up already,” I would yell back at him, hoping to make this annoying show that he put on for attention stop. At least, that’s what I thought it was. I thought it was just a show. My brother has now been missing for 56 days. I’ve counted everyday since he’s been gone. Everyday since, I’ve hated myself.