Waking up the clock reads half past noon. Looking outside I feel a pang of gloom. I think of the day we got yelled at for not hearing our parents call us more than just a few times. We didn't know. We were too busy playing in the snow. I remember how we'd wake up early and make so much noise. Dad always was pissed at us. You could see it in his face. He couldn't wait for us to finally grow up. I remember when we both had the flu. We had to be four years old. You were wearing your green and white dinosaur pajamas. I was crying because I didn't know what to do. Mom called us in for school. I always cried when I was ill. Dad always had rage fits and wanted to throw us down a hill. I remember when you'd always want me to play batman with you. I played with the Poison Ivy action figure. You played batman. You always had a creative mind. Always thinking of numerous plots and unique scenarios. I remember making that cake for your 17th birthday. Dad failed miserably. It was a good story to tell. Strawberry frosting from Pillsbury. He got it everywhere. It was a mess but it soaked up a little bit of stress. I remember when you were in kindergarten. You hated reading books. They always made you mad. It was a struggle every night to finally get you to understand the material. I remember when we would get up early to watch tv. We'd watch bob the builder, blues clues. The power rangers if it was on a school day. Abc family, we had till 7:20. That's when mom would take us to elementary school. I remember when you started getting depressed. It was 6th grade. Everything started getting unsettling. The constant yelling and screaming. The anger beaming through your eyes. I remember The fear in mom's eyes. You always kept asking her if she loves you. Of course mom loved you. She always has. You said you wanted to die. Little did anyone realize I felt the same way inside. Dad didn't believe heather, mom or I when we said he's got some serious issues boiling over from every side. It took too long, too much time was wasted. I remember it was September. You landed in the hospital. Mom was so distraught. You weren't yourself. No one ever thought this was who'd you become. Where was it coming from. I remember it was October, the cops came over. You threw a fit. You broke the xbox. I remember always taking walks in the neighborhood. I thought it would ease my racing thoughts. It didn't. They just kept running around in circles. The child we lost 2009, you broke down all the time, we didn't know what to do nor say. We walked on broken shards of glass for more than just a few days. We lived in constant fear. This house is not a home. It's become a battle zone. Always fighting each other never deciding on what we should do or how how to get through to you.