I buried my face in my hands, the sleeves on my sweater turning darker as tears fell on them. I felt embarassed to show my face to the world. I was crying so hard, but that's what you would do in a situation like this, right? A lot of people came, many of them were my relatives, but I refused to speak to them, fearing that they would sympathize with me, and I would just cry even harder. And I hated it when that happened. I just needed to be alone. But I needed to face this. I walked over to where the coffin was laid. Looking down at my brother's face, I wanted to cry again. The scars from the car accident were still visible. I know that a lot of people would say it wasn't my fault that my brother was dead; it was the driver's. But this was something that a lot of you would call 'Survivor's Guilt', and that's what we go through when someone dies when they're saving your life. But it was true. It was my fault that I was walking across the street. It was my fault my brother had to push me away from the car. It was my fault that he's dead. But why him? Why couldn't it have been me?