But how did he get up there? by Clara

A crowd stood before me. Cameras clicked, and people mumbled, but I could barely hear them. All I could focus on was my brother. On top of that building. On the edge of that building. Millimetres from plummeting to his death. “But how did he get up there?” I asked myself. The only way up to the roof was up a ladder. My brother hated ladders. I slipped through the police tape, past the guards, I didn’t care anymore. I had to get to him. My sweaty palms slipped on the cool metal bars as I climbed up to him…