He already looked angelic. The last summer winds played with his long blonde hair as he searched through some distant thought in the sky. He was always searching the sky for something. Perhaps the words he'd never say. Adam never talked much. I'm pretty sure he hasn't lost his voice, but in all honesty I don't remember what it sounds like. Probably a lot like mine.

I took another sip from my bourbon to calm me down. It's a fucked up thing that the kid has to die. It's not his fault, but I guess it's nobody's fault when they're let go, right?

I took another look at the clock, and read 3:18. In another 2 minutes, it would be exactly 24 hours before our 21st birthday. The beginning of Adam's last day on earth.

When he turned around I was almost shocked to see us at 21 years old. Despite being twins I always thought of him as his 8-year-old self. I remember him from before he got that nasty scar over his left eyebrow, and grew 15 pounds heavier than me. He looked over at the clock, 3:19, and back at me, but a sudden guilt took over him and he turned back around.

That struck me as odd, but frankly, Adam was never easy to read after he cracked his skull on the cement, and stopped talking. If anything, it should have been me who felt guilty. Here I was, looking at my twin brother, who was a walking corpse, thanks to me. I should've felt sad, but honestly, as he spoke less and less, and understood less and less, I started to come to terms with the fact that I would be the carrier for our genes, and that he would die. Plus, everyone above 21 has gone through this. It's none of our faults. It's simply the way nature panned out.

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Adam made a move towards the door but I motioned at him and reassured him. I took a glance at the clock as I passed: 3:20, officially 24 hours left in Adams life, and 24 hours before mine truly began. To my surprise, I opened the door to find the officers wearing grim faces.

"May we come in?," the center officer asked. "Of course."