The fact that Melissa was pointing a gun at him did not seem to register in the man's mind. He kept moving towards her and began to swing his fists, trying to hit her despite the fact that he couldn't reach her.

Melissa stood her ground and shakily pulled the trigger of the gun, letting out a little yelp as she did so. The man immediately crumpled over; Melissa had fired a bullet right between his eyes. Blood began pouring out of his wound. I simply stared, not feeling anything.

Melissa started crying and ran over to the couch. She sat down and embraced me. Her breaths came out in shudders. Her arms were wrapped tightly around me, and her dark hair fell in front of my face, providing an astonishing contrast compared to my own white locks in front of my face. A feeling of deja vu settled over me.

Melissa let out another sob. All the tears she had been holding back for as long as I could remember were finally being permitted to escape. She buried her face in my hair, and I put my toys down. Then I felt her head pull away from my own, and her quiet, shaky voice whispered into my ear, "Nate... I, I want you to keep playing with your toys, okay? Remember how I tell you to play with your toys and ignore everything? I want you, I want you to do that now. P-play with your toys. Okay? Keep playing, just keep playing and make yourself feel good. Keep playing, okay? Keep playing..." She unwrapped one of her arms from me. I heard another gunshot, a much louder one this time. Melissa's grip on me loosened and she fell over.

It was then that I decided I didn't like my sister very much after all.

x.X.x

When the police arrived, I was still sitting there on the couch, playing with my toys. Melissa's body was crumpled behind me, her hand still laying on my lap; I had not dared move it.

The police, to my disappointment, did not ring the doorbell. They barged through the unlocked door with their guns drawn. Upon seeing two dead bodies and a small child calmly playing with toys, one of the officers put her gun down and walked over to me. The other officer walked cautiously around the apartment with his gun, prepared to shoot any threatening survivors.

"Hi," said the officer who had walked over to me in a voice that gave me the impression that she believed herself to be a child whisperer. "What's your name?"

I looked up at her. The only part of her face that I can remember are her small, brown eyes, which reminded me of Melissa's. I didn't answer her question.

"What is your name?" she repeated.

"Nate," I said in a small voice. I continued to play with my toys.

"Ah, Nate," she smiled. "Did you see what happened here?"

"Yes," I said, not looking up.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

"Melissa shot the man, then she shot herself."

"Oh, that must make you sad. It must have scared you."

I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't actually know if I was sad or if anything had scared me.

"Hmm, well, it's okay now. Will you come with me?" she asked.

"Why?"

"You have to."

I accepted this explanation, knowing that I probably wasn't going to get a better one. "Oh."

I went with the woman and the officer once it was confirmed that there was no one else in the apartment. They took me down to the police station, where I had to repeat in great detail what had happened. They asked me many questions but would answer none of mine.

After they felt they had everything all sorted out about what had happened and why, they moved me into a small room with a small man. The man introduced himself as Mister Peters and asked me a number of questions: "Nate, it seems you are quite articulate for a child of... how old are you? Five? Six?"

"Five," I replied. The man nodded his head thoughtfully. He seemed quite interested in this knowledge.

"Five, quite articulate for a child of five. Do you know what 'articulate' means?"

"Yes."

"Ah, wonderful. And do you know how to read?"

"Yes."

"I see. What kinds of things do you read?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Anything."

"Anything, really? Wow. Do you read books that don't have pictures?"

"Yes."

"How many books would you say you've read that don't have pictures?"

"Two."

"And do you read lots of books that do have pictures?"

I shook my head "no".

"Oh? Why not, Nate?"

"We don't... there were only two books in the apartment."

"The two books without pictures?"

"Yes."

The man was taking notes as we had our conversation. He paused to scan his notes before asking, "And do you know what those two books were called?"

"Yes."

"What were they called?"

I could easily recall the names of the books. I had read them at least ten times before while Melissa was with the man. "One book was called Alcoholics Anonymous - Big Book, and the other was called The First World War: Germany and Austria-Hungary."

"Those are big books, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"And you read them all by yourself? No one read them to you?"

"No. I read them alone."

"Okay... Well, Nate now we're going to play some games, okay?"

"Okay."

The "games" we played were games with little metal pieces entrapped with one another. I had to take them apart and Mister Peters noted how fast I could do so. Then Mister Peters gave me what he called a "magic colors block", but was more commonly called a Rubik's cube. I was to solve the "magic colors block", and he timed me once again. Then he asked me a series of logic questions, which were still part of his "games". He seemed surprised when I told him the answers after he asked the questions. He then asked me more questions, but these were about my past, mostly about how I had learned things.

"Who taught you how to read?"

I thought back. I remembered Melissa reading to me from one of the books one time, trailing her finger underneath the words as she slowly pronounced them. I couldn't remember for how long she had read to me, but that was the last, and only, time she had ever read to me. After that, I could read independently. "My sister."

"How old were you when you learned to read?"

This question was one I was unsure of how to answer. Melissa had told me one day that I was five years old, but she had never informed me of my age any incidents prior, and I did not know when my birthday was. I answered as best I could: "Younger than I am now."

Mister Peters chuckled. "I see. Now, could you solve this math problem for me?" He wrote an equation down on a piece of paper and handed it to me. On the paper it was written: "19+22=_"

I stared at the paper, perplexed by the odd symbols surrounding the numbers. "No."

Mister Peters was surprised. "No? You can't? You don't know how to?"

"No, I don't."

"I see..."

Mister Peters wrote something down in his notes and then asked his final question: "Nate, how old did you say you were again?"

"Five, Mister Peters."