It was a Wednesday my older brother committed suicide, or as my parents would call it the ultimate act of betrayal. I suppose it was in a way, it was a very selfish act, he had only created more sadness in an already disastrous situation. He'd been bullied since sixth grade when he came out of the closet. I never thought of him differently, he was the same person. However not everyone else felt the same, my parents had sent him to counseling, as if it were some sort of disease, maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe he thought his own parents didn't accept him, but I did. I accepted him, so why wasn't I enough? This is my fault. I should've tried harder to keep him happy, but it's too late now. I stare out of the window at the storm outside, He always liked it when it rained. He may be gone now, but he's still my brother. I walk out of his room and shut the door, taking the memories with me.
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