Michael, in fact, had two siblings. Until he lost one of them. Malcolm was killed, and nothing can change it. It was a tragedy. An awful act was committed by some crazy extremist who couldn't seem to find anything better to do than to strangle an innocent boy. His body was left near the school, like a bag of trash to dispose of, not a person with dreams, a future, or a family

Now there are only two of you. You were too young to understand the situation, or so everyone hoped, at least. Everyone told you some fairy tales, hiding the bitter truth behind the sweet lies to protect your innocent, unprepared mind. But Michael had to live with the ghost haunting his dreams. He became more distant. Aggressive, most of all. For how much longer can he pretend that everything is fine? It was suffocating, especially when you kept asking. 'Where's Malcolm? Where's Malcolm?'

You see him hunched over in his room, back turned to you. His hand grips his head, and he doesn't notice you until you make a sound, making him flinch and snap his head towards your direction.

"What?" He snaps before you can even speak to him properly. With heavy, quick steps, he goes to close the door in your face, but stops just as he grips the knob. "No, Malcolm won't come, he's—"

He catches himself on his words. One part of him screams that there's no point in treating you like a mindless child. You probably heard about it from the news anyway, or your classmates told you. And yet, the other side of him takes a few seconds to look into your eyes. Everyone is already struggling; why should he make it worse?

"He's very busy, yeah. You need anything?" Michael says this instead, letting out a small, resigned sigh.