I slide myself down the smooth back of the wooden chair at my kitchen table, staring at the vivid oranges in the white bowl. The bright color is a little too cheery, too vibrant, for a day like today, if you ask me. I feel pangs of devastation mixed with disbelief flood my body. I want to cry, but something holds back the tears. I sip my coffee, which is filled with sugar, and stare out the window into the foggy neighborhood. My parents are talking to the police. I notice our swing set, the one I used to play on as a child, it is, of course, empty. My brother and I used to race down the slide and bring to life the swings when we were children, several years ago. But today, even if I had wanted to, I cannot play with my brother, or even talk to him, for he is not here. My parents noticed that he did not come home from the party last night, which was unusual for him. The police say they discovered a totaled Honda on the side of the road, the same model that my brother drives, only nobody was inside. He has not been found, but I know that the police will not find him. I have a feeling that my brother is dead. Of course, the officials have not confirmed it, but the sinking feeling in my stomach assures me of my worst fears. I am not sure what to do now; should I hug my mom, or talk to my dad? I do not move, but rather I continue staring at the oranges and sipping my coffee as the morning drags on.