He was my most favourite brother. I loved him as much as a child could love anyone. He was ‘cool’ and spoke English in a fashion I was unaware of. Being a single child, I searched for the attention of my cousins, they were and still are one of the closest relationships I have ever known. My brother- let’s call him Jack lived in a small town. You know the type of people who come from small town with big dreams-that was him. He would tell me about how he wants to get rich, and how we already were. He made me feel important, like I was different, like I mattered. I was always vying for his attention (I have always been a teeny weeny bit attention seeking). When I grew up I realised he spoke wrong English, but it didn’t matter, he was always cool for me. It was all rosy until the monster got into him, he took my brother away from him. He did everything he could, to hide the angel inside him, until it fully vanished. He drank, smoked, got into fights and the list never ends. The worst phase came when his hands reached places on my body where they shouldn’t have been found. I was 11. I ignored, I waited for the angel to come back. The incident repeated itself when I was 12, I thought I had imagined it. Then I was 13, and I couldn’t always keep waiting. So I spoke-shocked the family, I watched as the drama unfolded. Our relationship was never the same again. He probably never loved me. He ran away and married some girl, we lived separate lives, I never saw him again. And now? He is dead, and I will never ever see him. He died of liver failure, the monster inside him slowly ate him up, till he was finished. Sometimes you wish somebody to die so bad, and when he really does, it doesn’t seem worth it. Our relationship will never be mended, it will never find the peace it deserves. I am still waiting for my angel.