Sometimes,when I bring flowers,I fix the flowers on the graves around my brother's grave. Some of the headstones have birthdates near my brother's;they are young,too. But many of them,if they have any little toys or things on them,those are red. All around my brother are boys who grew up to like red,making them the enemies of my brother. My brother was 16 when he was shot by someone who liked red,who killed him because he liked blue. And when I go to the cemetery I put flowers on the graves of the boys who liked red,too. Sometimes I go to the cemetery with one of my best friends,who had a crush on a boy who liked red,who was killed at 18 by someone who liked blue. And we will go together and bring a big bunch of flowers,enough for both of these boys whose families are actually even from the same state in Mexico.