"Hurry! We're going to be late!" the voice of a child whined.

"I'm hurrying. The game doesn't start for another thirty minutes, Pete… we have time."

"I don't want to miss a minute!"

I weaved through the heavy Auburn Hills traffic, in the middle of a rainy March Saturday afternoon., headed to a Detroit Pistons game. It was my kid brother's tenth birthday, and he just loved Ben Wallace, so the obvious choice for a birthday gift was tickets, on the floor, to a Pistons game.

"Shit…" I muttered under my breath as I saw a flashing sign indicating that it would take about twenty minutes to get to the Palace.

"Don't curse." My brother said, as though he were the older one in the situation.

I looked at him through the rear view mirror, seeing his smirk.

In the split second that I took my eyes off of the road, a car cut in front of me. Traveling at sixty miles an hour, I tried to stop and succeeded in not rear-ending the car. But half a second later, there was a crash and my car was propelled forward. It felt like I was punched in the chest as the airbag popped out of the steering wheel.

Time seemed to stop, as I opened my eyes, shocked. I hoped that it was just a minor accident, but when I turned around, I knew it wasn't. There was the grill of a huge Mack truck in my backseat!

"Oh my God!" I screamed.

My little brother was supposed to be sitting where the truck was.

I opened my door, getting soaked as soon as the cold rain hit my body. There was blood all over the back window, and my brother… oh my brother was there, pressed against the widow. His green eyes pierced into mine, as innocent as ever. I opened the door, and pulled his bloody, mangled body onto the gravel of the highway.

By then, traffic was at a complete stand still, and a middle aged woman jumped out of her car.

"Oh my goodness…" she murmured, pulling out her cellular phone and dialing 911.

"Pete… it's okay, buddy." I whispered, stroking his bloodstained blond hair.

"No…I-it… isn't…" he whispered as though it was the hardest thing he'd ever done. "I'm going to die."

"Pete… d-don't s-say that…" I said, tears streaming down my cheeks, though through the rain it was hard to see.

It seemed as though paramedics were on the scene seconds later. When they saw Pete, looking like a child's rag doll in my arms, they shook their heads and muttered things about his not surviving. I wanted to get up and kill them with my bare hands for not having hope that my brother would make it though, but I only had the strength to yell.

"What the hell are you waiting for! Fix him! He's dying, damn it! Fix my brother!"

"Sir, calm down." One of the female paramedics said, as the others strapped Pete onto the long board thing, who's name I never really cared to find out.

Ten minutes later, Peter Nicholas Flemming died in an ambulance… en route to the hospital.