My brother and I were standing in some unnamed beach, looking far into the horizon, talking about something I can’t fully remember now, though eventually we got to the topic of suicide. The beach was only “technically” a beach – that is, it was just a part of the ocean that reached out onto some shore full of brown sand, but the currents were so wild and strong, like the Atlantic ocean, that no one dared swim. In fact, the entire beach was desolate: not a soul around, though the sun was shining strong.

As we got deeper into the conversation of suicide, we both lifted our eyes from the horizon and placed them upon a huge brown rock covered in moss and algae that was coming out of the turbulent waters like an iceberg. Our conversation maintained the theme, though at times we talked about suicide and at others simply about death. Then, at some point, as the waves were getting angrier and bigger, I said to him: “watch out, man….we can’t get in the water…unless we want to die.” I then remember feeling some kind of morbid desire to jump in precisely to see if I’d die. I started holding on to the algae in the rock with one hand while dipping my feet in the water, but the current was so strong — driven by some kind of hurricane or cyclone under the water — that it nearly sucked me in, so I got scared and quickly pulled myself back up onto the brown sand. But then my brother said something about killing himself, recalling our talk of suicide, and he said it completely nonchalantly; almost as matter of fact. That’s when he jumped in.

I remember yelling hysterically at him not to do it, though it was obviously too late…as soon as his feet touched the water, he was sucked in underneath that big rock as if he had gone inside a blender running full speed. He just disappeared. Waves started getting even bigger, crushing all around me, sounding like thunder and splashing violently against the rock.

Without hesitation, I jumped in the water, though I held dearly to the algae and moss that was growing on the rock. I dipped my head quickly underneath the water to see if I saw him, and indeed I could see him just underneath the rock, caught on something while being tumbled around by the waves as if inside a washing machine. He was unconscious. As I tried pulling him out, I nearly lost my grip on the rock and nearly drowned, too. But eventually I pulled him out.

Then I just remember running with his unconscious, pale and cold body in my arms through the beach toward some huge mountain in the distance. As I ran, I was screaming “help!! help me!! help, please!!!” with utter desperation and fear in my trembling voice. Then I saw some people dressed in black/blue clothes come down from the mountain and heading towards us. I think they might have been paramedics, because when they reached us, one of them took my brother from me,  placed him on the ground and started performing CPR. His hands pushed frantically down on my brother’s chest, trying to pump his heart back alive. But he wouldn’t wake up. I stood there trembling…Then the man got up and simply said, “I’m sorry….he’s dead.”

My legs started getting heavy and my vision blurry…but then, suddenly, that moment was gone and I found myself in some house, though still feeling completely shocked and saddened by something I could not remember. Then someone knocked on the door, almost shaking me awake.

As I made my way to the door to open it, I recognized a picture of my brother hanging on the wall right beside the door. He was wearing a checkered blue shirt and had his hair parted on the side, sporting a big smile that showed off his two front teeth: it was a picture of him as very young kid – perhaps the one my parents took years ago, when he sat on Santa’s Lap at some mall. That picture stalled me from opening the door; it brought back a crippling depression that until then I wasn’t sure what it meant. Tears began coming out of my eyes, though the moment was interrupted by another loud knock.

When I opened the door, a young guy and a young girl came in — I think the girl might have been my ex-girlfriend. The guy had a big, green backpack, and in it there was a huge bottle of rum. When I saw the bottle, I suddenly realized that it had been months since my brother’s death, and that the entire time I had been drinking myself to death, too. The guy apparently knew that, and that is why he brought the bottle, though he didn’t seem like he wanted to drink at all.

Then the girl mentioned my brother — perhaps saying something nice — which only weakened my knees and blurred my vision again as I was gripped with fear…panic….sadness…I then took one more close look at that picture, as if trying to etch it in my brain, grabbed the bottle of liquor from the guy, and began walking to my left, towards some room off in the distance, leaving those two people behind me.

Once in the room, I remember only lying down on a big bed, face down and bawling my eyes out. I was having difficulty breathing, too. Then the girl came in and said something, not realizing I was crying. I then slowly lifted my head and turned towards her to say something about the death of my brother…Then I slowly pushed my face back onto the bed and continued crying…

When I opened my eyes, I realized I was in my room here in London. But I had also been crying — my eyes were full of tears — and this fact, for the first few seconds, had me convinced that he was indeed dead. After a minute or so, I realized it had all been a dream…but I could not stop crying.