I was sitting in the living room with my brother, Allen. We laughed as we listened to the radio together. I looked up at him smiling.

“Hey Allen?” I asked. He looked down at me, his grin never leaving his face.

“Yeah Jake,” He said, turning his torso towards me. I was about to ask him something, but was interrupted by the door bell ringing. He held up his finger and got up and walked to the door. I followed him, curious who was at the door. Allen opened the door, revealing two soldiers. Allen paled when he saw them. My eyes widened. No, oh dear god no! They can’t be taking him away from me. Allen looked down at me.

“Jake?” I looked at him, tears begin to well up in my eyes. I spun away from him and ran up to my room. I shut the door, falling to the ground. I hugged my knees to my chest. Please dear god, tell me this isn’t happening. I could hear my brother talking to the men, tears began to stream down my face. I’m trying not to believe that theres a war, that they’re here to take him away. I didn’t want to say goodbye, I didn’t want him to leave. I watched him from my window as he walked down the drive. I got up and ran down the stairs to the front door. I threw open the door, panting slightly. Allen turned around to look at me, confused.

“You come back!” I shouted at him, allowing him to see my tears as they rolled down my cheeks, “I’ll give you my room! I’ll do anything you want! I’ll clean your room or wash your car! Just don’t go!” I cried out. He gave me a sad smile.

“This is what brothers are for…” And with that he left. I fell to my knees, sobbing. I walked back into the house. I grabbed my notebook and began to wrote:
‘December 25, 1943,
They took Allen. This will be the first Christmas we have not been with each other. From now until Allen comes back I’ll keep this journal recording everything that happens for Allen.
I miss him already.
Jake L. Kingsley’
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sat at the table, a candle near me for light. Mr. Handfield had turned off my power so they wouldn’t find me. I had a blank parchment in front of me, an ink pen in my left hand. I tapped the pen think of what to write. It has been half a year since Allen was drafted for the war, and every day since we have been sending letters. He would tell me how he missed me, and how he’s met a lot of old friends, also asking if I was safe. I don’t understand why everyone is so worried. I’m 16 now, I don’t need everyone to always worry about me. Maybe it’s because of the war and my eyes...yeah that’s probably it. They’ve been going around trying to find people who have different religion, also who look different. That’s the problem for me, for I have eye’s people would call cat eyes. The were a honey yellow colour and many people worried that my eyes would get me sent to camps. I sighed laying my head on the table. What do should I write to him? I sighed and began to write,

  ‘Dear Allen,
   I miss you, a lot’s happened since I last wrote to you, I’m not allowed outside the house anymore, Mr. Handfield said he’ll deliver our letters now. When are you going to be back? I miss our pillow fights, and late nights talking, and watching movies.’

Tears streamed down my cheeks once again as I began to remember everything that happened.
‘But lately I’ve been wondering where you’re at. You come back got it. I’ll do anything to have you back next to my side. There has to be someone I can call for you to come back.
Jake L. Kingsley’

I put the letter into an envelope and let out a shaky sigh. I walked to my room, and crawled up into my bed. I looked over at the photo next to my bed, my lip trembling. It was of Allen and I standing next to each other in front of our house. We had just moved in. Allen was 21 and I was 13, mum and dad had died about a month or two before that picture was taken.

“Good night Allen,” I whispered before falling asleep, tears still dribbling down my cheek.

A week or so after I mailed him that letter to him I finally got a response. I opened the letter in an eager yet scared fashion. Once I open the letter I stared at it tears welling up in my eyes, as a small, sad smile danced on my lips. There on the letter were six little words that made my heart almost break. It said:

‘This is what brothers are for.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘December 24, 1945,
I had my hero’s but the one I look up to the most is the one who taught me how to hunt and swing a bat. I may not have to face the anger of those guns, or lie wounded in my own blood, or know the sacrifice for him to love me that much....
Jake L. Kingsley’

It had been two years since Allen left and the war had now ended. I walked out of our house, the cold winter breeze hitting me in the face. I smiled as I walked down to the harbor where I was to meet Allen. Once I reached the harbor tears brimmed my eyes as I saw him. There he was. Allen was in a wheelchair, his left leg was gone along with his right arm, and he had an patch over his right eye. You could see the scars coming from under his patch. I ran forward and embraced him. I could feel him tremble under me, obviously trying to hold back his tears.
“I’m sorry you have to push me home,” He whispered. I pulled back smiling.

“This is what brothers are for.”

The End