If not now, when?

The crying walls

Im seven years old, like any other seven year-old, im at school. But Im sick to my stomach. Litteraly. My stomach's been in pain all day while at school but I didn't want to complain considering my mother works and probably wouldn't be able to pick me up.
Hours go by and it worsens so i finally speak up and head to the clinic. The nurse calls my mother, luckily, she is on her way home and pick me up on the way.

When he finally enter the apartment, she heads up stairs and plops on the bed.
"Lay down so we can take a nap" she says as she closes her eyes with her shoes and attire still on.
"Okay, but I need to use the restroom first" I respond while while to the bathroom.
We used to have rats so there's a little hole under the door where a rat bit to get through.
I try the knob because no one should be home.
It's locked.
Knock, knock, knock.
No answer.
Knock, knock, knock.
I look under the door and through the rat hole. It's dark.
I walk to my half-asleep mother.
"The door's not opening" I tell her.
She grabs her handful of keys, benefit of a job, and walks to the restroom as i follow her. She starts to fiddle with the handle and uses the keys to unlock even when they don't fit. She starts to bang on the door which makes me flinch each time. She starts to cause dents until the door finally breaks open. She pushes the door aside.
A man.
My brother.
My towel. My pink towel around his neck as his feet hangs off the edge of the tub.
His head leans to the right and his fists are clenched.
I stare at my frantic mother as the walls begin to cry. It feels like they're mocking me.
I don't remember tearing up but i start to feel hot streams down my cheeks. It wasn't the walls after all.
My brother's room opens which is near the restroom.
A man comes out.
His friend.
He's here?
"YOU DIDN'T HERE MY BANGING?" My mother yells, referring to our now broken door.
I can't hear him but I see his mouth moving.
Im still standing. Im too scared to move.
They both run to my brother and take him, and the entire pole supporting the towel, off the tub and lay him on the ground.
I still can't hear but i know they're yelling. They throw the pole and my towel off of him and start doing cpr.
After a minute my mother turns me and for a split second, i wonder how that must feel. To see you're 7-year-old daughter witness her 18-year-old brother die. She yells at me to call 911. I don't have a phone.
She tells me it's downstairs so i run and grab her phone. On the stairs back, I try to open
*Enter 4 digit password*
I panic and hand it to her. I stand again but only for a few seconds before she yells at me again to stay down stairs.
And I do.
I'm on my couch. My brown soft couch that reminds me of a chocolate puppy. I've always liked this couch. I put my knees to my chest and close my eyes.
"Please, God. I'll be good. Just let him live. Please." I plead in my prayer. I don't know how long it's been before about 3-4 men break down the front door and come in holding a bed with them.
Broken door #2.
One makes eye contact with me. His face saddens as he makes way upstairs. Soon, they come back down with my mother and my brother's friend behind them. They run outside so I do too. I see him get put in the ambulance but i get scared of losing him so i run to the ambulance as it drives away. I cry and scream for it to come back. It's too fast. I fall to my kness and cry.