The day my brother died was cruel, mean and brutal. I had had nothing to do with it, he hadhad nothing to do with it. All they were were sadists. I remember the day as clear as what I had for breakfast this morning. After all, I was there. Whenever his birthday rolls around, I remember. The event playsback in my mind and I have to force back my tears. The story goes like this...
It was twelve o'clock in the afternoon, and we were all on our way to Nanny's house. It was a winter's evening about 3 days from Christmas, and snow was everywhere. My 4-year old brother was so excited, to be meeting Nanny again, he ran on in front of us in the hope that her house would be round the corner. My mum and dad were chatting together, on the walk to the train station about money and work and friends, so I was keeping a watchful eye on my brother. He ran around cars and pretended he was ice-skating and even laid down on the ground to make snow angels (which I wasn't really keen on). The temperature was below -15 degrees and I felt like I was getting frostbite. The windows of every car we passed was frozen, pointed icycles pointed dangerously down from