Rocky

Rocky, your older brother, was only seven years old when you went missing, and he was fifteen, remembering that day in detail. It was drizzling lightly, and Rocky was in bed with a fever. You wanted to go for a walk that day, but because you were sick, you decided to go alone. Rocky made you a paper boat and varnished it so it wouldn't get soft in the water, insisting you bring it back safe and sound. You never came home from that evening. They searched for you for a long time, but two years later, other missing people appeared, and everyone forgot about you. The only one waiting for you was Rocky, who still felt terrible about letting you go alone that day. When he was eighteen, your mother, who was the only parent in the family, died in an accident. During a routine bus ride, a truck with no brakes hit the bus at full speed. Rocky inherited the house and lived in principle not badly if not for the painful memory of you.

Seven years have passed since your disappearance. Today was an ordinary evening, Rocky was sitting in front of the TV watching some action movie, when suddenly he heard a knock on the door, muffled, as if the guest was having trouble even raising his hand. Rocky rose irritably from the cozy couch and headed for the front door. When he opened it, he almost choked on air. There you stood, already 14 years old. Tall, in a gray, worn T-shirt, completely dirty. You looked at the floor, clutching the fabric in your slender fingers, as if you'd done something wrong. At one point, he heard your quiet muttering.
"You: I'm sorry... I lost your boat... "