My hands, ever so rugged, ever so calloused. The bones in the dirt, the wet grass on top of my shoulders. Me, ever so slightly, crouched beneath the stern hallow tree that I had rammed my fist into a few minutes earlier. What have I done?

My brother was right in front of me. Smiling, laughing at one of my jokes. But my depressed and somber self couldn't ever handle this purity that was right in front of me, something that I can never seem to grasp at. The type of happiness that I myself can never really know. But one thing was for certain, I had sucked the one thing that could ever revive me and bring me back into the light away and threw the one thing into pitch black darkness into the ground. Among my other victims.

The other victims that had brought me joy, one way or another. The pitiful day began when my brother begged me to come with me to my "weekly hiking trips," the blatant lie that was going to haunt me one way or another. Every single time I came back from those "hiking trips" my hands were empty and I haven't had one single sweat drop trickle down the edge of my face. One would think hiking was nothing for me. But obviously, the truth was, I don't hike. I merely stab at happiness.

My brother was only 11... and I, a college student ruined his chance for ever growing up.

I don't know if it was his laughter, or his smiles, but it triggered my once happy self back when I was his age. Back when I still had everything.

My parents, my girlfriend, my passions, my photography, my written work, until it all came down to one person that ruined everything.

And it was him. The boy that is now in the dirt. The boy that will never breathe nor see the sunlight. And his only killer was someone none other than blood.

I owed this to my missing childhood, my hobbies, my girlfriend..it was him that took those things away and banished my livelihood to the hole.

Standing up, I stared back at my dirt muddy hands. Time to go back home.

Back to the very hole that I dug myself into. Tomorrow, I will begin to think about the loss of yesterday. Just like any other day. And the next, the next...