My older brother (his name is Colt) moved in. He is 15. He bosses me around. I hate that. I am 11 years old. We haven't seen him in 4 years because he lived with his mom. Now he tries to swoop in and make me a little sister. Heck no. I text Trixie my best friend as quickly as possible. We end up sending random gifs. I have a boring life. I'm a normal homeschooled girl. That likes to draw and read and such. I'm pretty happy. Yeah I've had a pretty bad life but we're good now.

*time skip 6 months*
Colt spills his guts to me. How he tried to kill himself by getting to sick to stay alive. (Bad plan if you ask me... but whatever) and more. I take it all. Hugging him taking to him. I don't give my secrets. He hurts to much to bear mine. So I take his. I saw a video once that showed a stick figure waking around he was white. Then he saw sad people and made them happy again. But by taking their pain he turned black. Until he hugged his dog. Then he turned white again. I'm like that stick guy. I take people's pain and I turn black. But I don't have a dog (I do but mine does work like his) to take my pain. So I keep getting darker. Sister, brother, friend, neighbor, why do they tell me these things. I'm just a kid. A kid who's seen a lot yeah. But a kid all the same. I hurt inside. But I pray. And God makes it better. Sometimes. I keep getting darker. And more secrets. More hurts. They fill me up. But out of loyalty to my friends and family I don't spill. I simply balance. Or I try to. Sometimes the secrets get to be to much. Mine plus others. So I let them out in the form of tears. On my pillow case late at night. Late after everyone is sleeping. After everyone is dreaming. The next day I got up. I look in the mirror and smile. I saw a movie edit once that said "the brightest eyes have cried the most tears. And the biggest smiles fade the most. The happiest people are the saddest" I can relate to that to much. I smile. I laugh. I comfort and I joke. Most people probably think I'm the happiest person ever. I'm not. I love baby's. Every one always asks how I have to patience to be with them. It's because they don't ask questions. And they don't need you to look happy. When it's just me and the little kids I don't pretend to survive. I don't pretend a lot either. I have good friends. When I am around them I smile, I laugh. I am happy. They don't ask me to take their burdens. They don't fill me up more. Jimmy is a class clown. Trixie is my twin. She doesn't hold as much as me but she hold some things. She isn't quite as adult as I am. I pretend not to know what people's dirty jokes mean. And I try not to get angry when my mom says "you're to young" but sometimes I mess up. And I can't do that. Plop plop plop more secrets fall into the bucket that is me.