Ever since I was 9 years old, I've always wanted to be a mother. Mine always told me that I would be a great mother. For the longest time, I believed I would be a good mother. I researched proper parenting skills and raising a child with disabilities and understanding a child's mental and emotional health. Little did I know that the skills I had researched would be put to the test when my mother was murdered by my father. The man had begun acting weird over the past year and my mother started to distance herself from him. He managed to convince himself that she was cheating and he eventually lost his marbles, shooting my mother in cold blood on her way home from work. I witnessed it because I was at the convenience store that was across from her work. Afraid for my life I ran home as fast as I could and snagged my little brother and salvaged as much money as I could find and stole my father's car along with the keys and left our home. My little brother being scared, confused, tired, didn't know what was happening and he asked me the question that broke me. The question that made me slam the breaks on the car. The question that made me drop my head on the steering wheel and burst out into tears. "Where's Mummy?" I didn't know how to answer the question. The best form of response I could give was hugging him closely into my bosom. I didn't know what to say. I thought about if it would be better that he knows the truth, or I lie to him. "Mummy will be back soon, ok?" I choked between the tears. I hated lying. I never lied once during my childhood, but I didn't know what else to say to the 5-year-old. I sat for a moment, trying to forget about what I had witnessed, releasing the car from park, and driving off into the horizon.

I never gave much mind to my little brother. I don't think we had the same interests. I was always focused on studying school, parenting skills, just general life skills. I didn't ignore him completely and I still played my role as "The Big Sister". I was there for him if he had a bad day at school, I was there for him whenever he needed help with homework, I was there for him whenever our mother wasn't there and in our current predicament, it looks like she won't be there for a very long time. My brother is one of the few people in this world diagnosed with the disease "Infimium". It's a rare disease that prevents a child from growing properly in the womb, causing them to be proportionately smaller than an average human. In other words, my brother is a tiny human sitting in my lap, and even with my research on parenting skills, I still have no idea how to raise a kid like him. Infimium is a lesser-known disease because scientists haven't had many study opportunities. With the internet being a thing and a fetish about the use of tiny humans being a thing, a lot of "tinies" get put to use for people's dark and twisted fetishes. Since I know a fetish like this exists, I think it's safe to say that I have a few desires of my own and that's a part of the reason I never paid much attention to my brother as I wasn't able to control those urges when I was younger. Now, with my mother dead and my father probably kneeling beside her question every decision he's ever made, I have a responsibility to my brother. Instead of fulfilling "The Big Sister" role like I was supposed to, I have to take my mother's place. I know that this is a test, and she will be judging every turn I take.