He bumped a glass off the table and was immediately brought back to the towering city of Chicago. Every time he closed his eyes death consumed his mind. A cool wind swirled into his home. He saw his brother standing alone at the top of the towering building, a lethal height. Tears streamed down the man’s face as the glass lost its contact with the table. It was only three seconds to the bottom, but the fall wasn’t the worst part. Not even the horrible sound of the body making its fatal contact with the ground was what caused his flashbacks. The glass fell and in his mind - so did his brother. The flailing body neared the ground and the roof creaked. He tried to look away - but could not do it. His efforts to manipulate his memory would never prevail. He saw the body hit the floor at the speed of a bullet. His own sibling had splattered on the ground. He let out a drunken whimper as he brushed the blood off his cheek. It was apparent that he landed feet first because of the way his shins pierced his chest and his lack of feet. He wished he did not know that detail - knowing his sibling had been able to feel everything until his head made its final contact with the concrete was not comforting. The scene was horrid. Onlookers took pictures and whispered cruel truths he was not ready to hear - yet that was not the worst part. His eyes opened and he was brought back to his quiet country home with a broken glass on the floor. He took a deep breath suppressing a sob, and mustered a few words that sent chills down the spines of residence in homes miles away: “Why didn’t you scream before you hit the ground.”