I have always seen it. Ever since I was eight and almost died. It's only been eight years but it feels like a life time.

I remember the first time I seen it. I was laying in bed at the hospital, my brother looming over me. His cheeks tear stain and eyes red. As soon he saw me wake up, he scream out my name. "LEO!"

I remember jumping. I remember the ache in my body. I remember saying his name with a shit-eating grin; of what he said later on. "Charles." I remember the burning sensation in my throat when I talked.

Then Charles cry. He was nineteen at the time and I've never seen him cry in my life. Not even when our dad died. He didn't cry at the funeral nor the hospital when we got the news. I was only five and my first memories of my dad was him in the coffin as I cry over his body. My big sister, Nyssa, let tears fall down but not sob. My mom cried into my hair.

Charles stood his ground.

But he cried as I lay on the hospital bed. I remember reaching up to grab his face. I remember his hand grabbing mine and squeeze it. I remember seeing a red string tried around Charles's pinking finger. It wasn't connected to anything, only hang there. I did point it out with my broken voice.

But he said, "There's nothing on my pinkings."

I though I went crazy.

But I still see them.

Everyone haves them. I have one. Nyssa have one. My neighbor have one. Some are connected to someone else. Others are not connected to anyone. A little of them don't have a red string. I don't know why they don't.

Then mine connect.