It was 1987, I lived in a small urban house; around Toronto. I had two brothers, and one sister. My one brother; Simon. Lived with us, but my other older brother, and sister; lived on their own. Around that time, it was the simple stuff, that was the most entertaining. Whereas now, kids get no kicks out of their new toy. Back then, a new toy; was a new year of fun. Wish it was still like that. Now, back to my brother Simon. I was seven and he was nine, and as you can guess, he hung out with the 'cool' kids, and never played with me. Everyday, I was home; bored, with nobody to play with. This didn't bother me though, I played with my building blocks, and other little nick-nacks. And they kept me happy, when time passed (Me turning eight) He was changing, he almost never talked to me, and never was home; always out playing sports. With the 'cool' kids once again. Turning eight, I lost intrest in toys, I got into different things.

So I really had nothing to do at home, I was turning sadder everyday. My mom caught on and asked why. I told her everything about Simon. She was silent when I finished and said 'I will talk to him'. That was good with me, I loved seeing him in trouble, for how much of a jerk he was. But the next day, Simon came into my room. I looked up, "What do you want?" I remember saying sneerily. He held up a peice of paper and a pencil. He sat beside me, and put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry for everything, I ignored you, and it was wrong. If you ever want to talk to me, use the language." He said. "What langauge?" I asked. "The one me and you are going to make up" He said with a smile.

I smiled too, we spent the entire month, creating an entire lanugage. We even had words like the F word and other swears. We used it a lot, whenever I would see Simon I would say "Jai!", that meant Hello.  Once again, time passed on; and we both lost intrest, Simon grew up, and started to ignore me again. This time, I was depressed. My social life wasn't great, and I was alone almost all the time. It turned into self-harm. Everybody at school would call me Emo, and not want to hang out with me; or feel empathy. I was eleven the first time I tried to kill myself. I drank a glass of bleach, but my mom walked in; she rushed me to the hospital and luckily, I survived.

Time dragged on, day by day. Until one night. December 5th, 1993. I was in bed, it was around three in the morning, and my depressive crying, had kept me awake. I lay there, for so long. Until a knock came on my door. It startled me, and I bolted upright. I walked over to my door, and opened it. I looked around, and nobody was out in the hall. I looked down and a crumpled peice of paper, lay on the floor.

I bent down and picked it up. "Rae Siem Arek Poe" That meant 'Don't Cry It's Ok'. I was speechless. I threw the note aside. and crawled back to bed. I tried to fall asleep but I couldn't, I heard a bump from under my bed, and I threw the covers over me, scared. I lifted them off after a while, and was face to face, with a...thing. It had green eyes, and pale grey skin. I was silent, petrified. It stroked my cheek. "Don't cry, it's's ok" He cooed in our language. his continued for so long, it kept coming back, and comforting me.

I grew to like it, he never told me his name, so I called him friend. One night, I was sadder than ever, my brother had hit me, for wanting to play with him. What I forgot to say is that friend was always speak in our language. I went to bed, and lay there. Sure enough friend came.

And he asked me what happened, I told him, and he tucked me in to sleep. I awoke the next morning to sirens. I ran downstairs and my mother was talking to an officer. I ran over, "What happened?" I asked. My mom covered her eyes. "Simon had to go honey" She said to me. Friend didn't show that night, nor did he ever again. Simon got taken to a hospital for attempted suicide.

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