I hate it when my brother Charlie has to go away.

My parents constantly try to explain how sick he is.That I am lucky for having a brain where the chemicals flow properly to their destinations like undammed rivers.When I complain about how bored I am without Charlie, they try to make me feel bad by telling me his boredom surpasses mine considering his confinement in a dark room.Charlie used to be back home several times each duration shorter than the last.Every time without a fail, it all starts again; The neighbour hood cats with gouged out eyes showing up in his toy box, my dad's razor blades found in the baby slide across the street, my mom's vitamins tablets replaced with the dishwasher tablets.My parents are now hesitant, using "last chances" sparingly. They say it is better if we wait until Charlie is all better.That I will just have to put up with my boredom until it is safe to be with him.

I hate it when my brother Charlie has to go away.It makes me have to pretend to be good until he is back.