Billy

my hero had crippled hands. he was a small man. my hero could not hear. he was my brother, so dear. people laughed and pointed at my hero. " look at that monster", "see that weirdo?" i turned my back and was so ashamed for that "monster" they teased had a name. his name was Billy. he was my brother. i was only six, but that doesn't matter. until then, i had never seen through the eyes of ugly, the eyes of mean. those eyes were mine for that brief moment in time. the pain of that day was Billy's, not mine. i deserved the regret that i feel to this day. my brother needed me and i turned away. i never again thought less of him. he was my equal. he was my friend. years later, with his crippled hand in mine, i watched him take his last breathe. i could not speak, i only wept.