Now, it is 6:47 AM Monday morning. Your mother is waiting downstairs in the kitchen to give you your lunch money. She is already late for work but she does not want you to stress about making lunch for yourself. She does not know what is taking you so long. She yells your name a couple of times. But there is no response. She has no idea that your cold body is laying in your bedroom. She thinks you slept in, so, she runs up the stairs and knocks on your door. But still, there is no answer. She opens the door and screams, horrified. She runs to you and holds your body. The tears seems like a waterfall, everlasting.

She sits there with you cradled in her arms for a good hour, until she has the strength to get up and she calls your father. Your father rushes home and cry together. They pick up your siblings from school and try to explain to them what happened. Your older brother runs out of your room and into his. He slams the door. He thinks it is all his fault. He is always picked on you, calling you names and starting arguments just to push your buttons. He punches his walls and allows the tears to pour out of him. Your little sister does not understand. She asks if it is because she always tries to steal your stuff or because she never leaves you alone when you have your friends over. It is hard to explain something like this to a six year old. But, she probably would not care anyways, right?