My brother sat on his bedroom floor in deep concentration. I myself was on his bed, loud music blaring through my headphones as I gazed around his messy room. “What a pig”. He didn’t hear my comment. I watched as he created new toys with the small plastics bricks of assorted reds, blues, and yellows that were strewn across the floor. Bigger and bigger the creations were getting. “What an imagination”, I thought to myself. To me the idea of making things like robot dragons and kitten powered cars seemed dumb, but to him- To him it was perfect. “Do you want to play”, he said in his small and muffled ten year old voice? “No”, and with that – reason unknown- I stormed out of the room, stepping on the small bricks, ignoring the pain that their sharp corners created in me. I walked down the dark hallway and into my warmly illuminated room. I went to position myself on my bed, taking in the bright red comforter, tracing the seams with the tip of my finger. For the next few minutes I lay there blank faced. The light blue walls that surrounded me appeared to be more fascinating than they should have been at any other given time. My mind zoned out to focus on a time that didn’t feel too long ago. Though I guess seven years is quite a while in my terms, almost half of my life. It was when my little brother got a power wheels, he was three, and I was eight. I would laugh as he revved by, drifting across the concrete driveway. The red mustang was his prize possession; it made him so happy, yet so serious for a three year old. He would wash off any dirt that was on the car after he used it, polish it clean and as glossy as the plastic could get. When he drove he had this serious face as though he was zooming by cars in the Grand Prix. He truly loved cars, having his own gave him a new kind of passion, watching him laugh, no worries of the outside world, no bad, no evil, no politics, nothing. His sister, me, setting up cones for him to drive through. He really did love it when I played with him. I wish that I could be that kid again; all I can think about is how my life is just going to get harder and harder, the responsibilities greatening. At least he has me to make his time more fun, his time before fun is a rare commodity. When I was his age I didn’t have someone to play with, or talk to besides my parents. I was lonely, I guess that’s why they decided to have another kid, but what’s the point if I don’t play with him. My mind came back to current; my gaze with the walls was lost. I stood from the comforts of my bed and left the room. When I sat next to my brother on the floor in his room he seemed surprised. I ignored this, picked up the bricks and starting to build.