The world and all within it

I'm laying in the grass, next to my little brother, underneath the huge sky and the million stars within it. This world seems amazingly large from this viewpoint. People are everywhere doing different things, they all have different problems on their mind. They all have their own agenda. Rushing to and fro, or taking their time. Laughing, crying. We're all under this same sky.

But right here and now. The world is small. It's just me and him. no communication, except for the heart. A handful of memories. I should say a clenched fist full of memories, that will not be loosened until I someday grow senile.

I remember his toes. Sticking out from under the blue sheet. They were dull, a shade of yellow, but still his. The middle toe longer than his big toe, slightly crooked, just like mine. I could have identified his body just from his feet. His hairy wrists and hands, also just like mine. His eyes half open, staring at the ceiling. I looked straight into them, I could still sense pain in there, but somewhat alleviated. His chest and shoulders had grown large over the last year. Here was a grown man laying before me. His muscles were tense, his hair soft. I couldn't stop running my hands through his Mohawk. The blood on his forehead and behind his ear had grown crusty by the time I arrived. I didn't witness his last breath. The last beat of his heart. I loathe this. No matter how hard I squeezed his arms or feet, I could not reverse time. though this did not stop me from trying. And then I watched the men pull the sheet over his head, and wheel him down the hall. Out the glass doors, lifting the table to slide him Into the back of a van....

Now I lay beside him, There is a single rose on top of his casket. Six feet underground. My mother dropped it in the hole as they lowered him in. I'm sure it has wilted by now...

There are plenty of good memories, plenty of bad ones.. But from now on, the memories will consist of this. Me sitting beside him, clenching the grass, the same fashion as I had clenched his Mohawk... The mohawk, a symbol of his bold personality and rebellion, but at the same time it reminds me so much of his childhood. He always had a mohawk every summer. Until he got old enough to realize that it wasn't cool anymore and it didn't make him any tougher..

But,,, the world is bigger than just me and him, and it will continue to turn. No matter how much energy I waste trying to stop it.