It was my fault. I should have let him leave my side. He was my own brother. We were in the ring, and the kid from district 4 got a hold of him and killed him with his knife. I was out hunting. I told him to stay in the cave we found. Apparently someone was spying on us. And when I heard a scream I stopped. It sounded like my brother's scream. I spun around and ran back calling out his name. I started screaming at the top of my lungs. Luke! Luke! It seemed like I had my vocal cords out. It did no use. No little boy came out of the tree's saying Miranda! Miranda! Or saying I love you! There was no sound. It felt like I was screaming at a wall. My heart raced. Every heartbeat seemed like a mile away. I tripped over a rock and cut my knee. Blood came gushing out but I didn't care. I didn't feel anything. I came across the cave and saw a hover craft flying away. I didn't even get to say good bye to him or say I love you. Or give him one last kiss. I sat down on a rock and cried. It was all my fault. Why did I leave him? Why didn't I take him with me? What was I thinking? I cried for what seemed ages. And when I thought I stopped crying I cried some more. He was only twelve and I was seventeen. I should have been a better sister. And when night came I saw his face appear in the sky. I reached out my hand, hoping that I would feel his soft brown hair once again. And when the picture faded I cried. All night I dreamed of waking up in the morning and hearing his laugh. Even him playing with his plastic dinosaurs I gave him on Christmas. Even his tiny little hand against my big tough hand. I knew that if he was still here what he would be saying. He would be telling me to win and go home and keep living my life. And that he loves me. So I did. I won and went home and kept living my life. And every morning I got up and went to his grave and gave him daffodils. His favorite flower. And at night I whispered to God, tell him I love him.