Brother. The day I was born, I shone with such a brightness I was hard to look upon. You held me, and stared without flinching.  I suppose it was always going to go downhill from there.  The day I fell, you wouldn't even look at me as a farewell, even when your name tumbled from my lips like prayers, like begging, like pleasedon'tletmego. You broke my wings, broke my heart, broke all the promises we made, and you couldn't even apologise with tears. Father threw me, and I plummeted until I could fall no further, until  I was breathing in sulphur and smoke. I screamed for forgiveness, I screamed for my family, and the silence screamed back. I spoke the language of torture fluently by the time Hell was bored of me, and Heaven, still indifferent. I walk the earth now, and I tread lightly. I'm no star now. I'm nothing but void, a hollow where something real once was. I am forgotten. I am abandoned. I am angry. My light is missing from the sky, and perhaps it's time to put it back up there. So here's my solution: it's your turn to beg. My turn to forgive. Swallow your pride. It is, after all, a sin.