42

¬Rosie

He looks exactly as I remember.

There’s no doubting which of my two brothers this is; we are practically identical. He’s my twin, my other half. We always used to say he was older than me, because he was so much more matured, outgoing and experienced. He had older friends, older girlfriends and was almost always better than me at everything he did.

I was devastated when him and our oldest brother were killed in the accident. It was his death that hit me the most, because despite the fact that we didn’t always get along, we were the closest.

And now he is standing before me, having not changed a bit.

Well, I suppose that’s not completely true. He walks confidently through the glass doors, brushing the billowy curtain away with a leather gloved hand. His hair is still as black as obsidian, but there is a scarlet red streak running through the fringe of hair that reaches his eyebrows.

“Harlen,” I breathe in disbelief. How is this real? I’m not sure what it more surprising, t