I was lying in bed, trying to cry myself to sleep again. I just hated my life. My parents neglected me, always loving my brother better, always asking, "Mia, why are you such a failure? Why can't you be more like your brother, John?"

They've been like that ever since John died. Ever since I was six, ever since that horrible sixth birthday of mine, they've blamed me for his death.

I don't remember much of my sixteen year old brother. What I do remember, however, were few memories of him smiling and laughing. My favorite, the sharpest in my mind, was the day before he died. We were taken out to dinner to celebrate the fact that he made the winning shot in his basketball championship. All night, he would play with me, telling me jokes, and laughing. His dark blue eyes twinkling as his smile spread from one side of his face to the other. My parents adored him, probably loving the fact they had a perfect son.

Then he died.

We were at a visiting carnival, and riding every ride I was tall enough for. It was almost the end of the day, and John and I were about to meet our parents at the entrance, when I spotted a rollercoaster.

"Oh, John!" I exclaimed, "Could we ride that rollercoaster thing? It looks so cool!"

"I'm sorry, Mia," John apologized; I remember that he actually seemed to mean it, "But you're not tall enough. Maybe next year!"

"Please, John? Please, please, pretty please?" I begged. John sighed.

"Alright." John agreed reluctantly, and bent down so he could look me in the eyes.

"Oh, thank you!" I yelled.

"Here's what you do," John smiled, "Go to the bathroom – I'll wait outside – and stuff a bunch of paper towels in your shoes. You're not that short, and the paper will make you a little taller. Make sure no one sees you."

"Yes sir!" I saluted, and John laughed. I ran to the bathroom and made sure I was alone. I quickly stuffed as much paper towels as I could fit in my shoes.

I came out and grabbed John's hand. "Let's go!"

Luckily, the line was pretty short, and the man checking my height was a bit careless. We got on in no time.

"I can't wait! Thank you, thank you, thank you John! This is the best birthday ever!" I exclaimed. Little did I know it was exactly the opposite.

John hugged me in our little cart. "No problem, anything for my little sis."

The ride soon jerked to life, and we slowly started moving. I couldn't help smiling so wide I thought my face would hurt.

I don't know how to explain the rush and thrill of that rollercoaster, with the air rushing through my face, making my eyes water a little. That's when it happened. The coaster wobbled a little and accelerated. Then I heard a horrible crashing sound…the sound of metal hitting metal. I was starting to get scared, I leaned in closer to John, and he put his arms around me. I looked ahead of me. There the clanging was coming from ahead, which lead to a huge gap. We were racing towards it, so many miles per hour. We were racing towards our deaths.

"Mia, put your head down!" John ordered, "Lie down onto the floor!"

I curled into a ball and crawled under the bar. John leaned down, making his face only inches away, and I felt the most horrifying sensation. The cart was plummeting downward; it felt so endless I thought we would never reach the horrifying bottom. We finally crashed, and with much difficulty John tried lifting bar – it was jammed – and told me to get out.

"Move! Get out of here!" He yelled. I couldn't tell why he was still panicking.

"Come with me! Hurry!" I replied, trying to lift the bar to help. Then I noticed that every other rider in the snake-like coaster was out, running and screaming. I heard our parents run toward us, yelling frantically.

"Mia, just go!" he yelled so loudly.

I did what he said. Sometimes I wish I hadn't.

I ran to my mother and father. My mother fell to her knees hugging me, but my dad kept running. He tried to help John lift the bar. John pushed him away, and out of nowhere another rollercoaster crashed down on him, full of screaming people.

"NO!" I yelled, but my voice was drowned out by my parents' cries.

That was the day John died. That was the day my life changed.

The funeral was horrid. All my family members and John's friends came. All shedding countless tears. I couldn't believe he was gone. I cried nonstop, and tried holding my parents' hands so many times, but they just pushed me away, giving me all kinds of looks.

I laid my flowers – a few lilies, they were his favorites – on his grave, tears silently flowing again.

Who knew I could cry this much for so long? I thought, I'll miss you Johnny. I wish you hadn't left. I choked again, reaching for my mother's hand, only to have her pull it away.

That night I was still crying. I sat next to my parents, I tried for what was probably the fiftieth time to hug or hold their hands. They blew up.

"Why did you have to go on that ride?" My father yelled, pushing me away. "You're not even tall enough! Why were you so stupid?! Why did you do this to him? Why did you do this to us?!"

They had known from the beginning that it was me who convinced John to take me. That was my mistake – I told them.

From that point on, I lived in much solitude, with my parents crying over John and calling me a failure on almost a regular basis. They cried every birthday I had. They weren't totally neglecting, they always gave me a small gift of some sort, but it was never wrapped, they never said happy birthday, they never said anything about it. If it wasn't for the present, you could have guessed it was just another ordinary day.

Whenever it was John's birthday, they lashed out at me, saying how they blamed me, how they called me stupid for making him take me to that horrific rollercoaster.

I thought about all those years of solitude and sadness. Then I remembered it was my birthday in a few days. I cried all the harder, and my exhaustion caught up to me, and I fell into a troubled sleep.