This became a lot more depressing than I meant it to be. I'm not quite sure how surprising it is. It wasn't at all to me once it was done, but I knew the plot already. Please give me some citique. 

Jan. 19, 2013

I stared at his lifeless body, lying in the casket, tears streaming down my face. My brother, my beautiful, popular, loved twin brother, lie there, murdered. He was found in his apartment, died of food poisoning. There was no forced entry, no sign of struggle, no out of place fingerprints. There wasn't so much as a vase bumped a few inches to the left. Whoever had murdered him was a close friend, or family. Someone who seemed to love him, but on the inside, despise him. There were plenty of people like that. My brother was a bit of a goody-two-shoes, always perfect, claims to be OCD, even though it has been proven otherwise. Nobody knew who killed him, but almost everyone had a motive to. Plenty of people were angry at my brother, and the fingerprints found around the house all fit the mold.

Linda, his ex-wife, was for obvious reasons. My brother had an affair, then divorced Linda, not to be with the other woman, but because she was too much money to care for. However, she was in Florida with family at the time of the murder, so it wasn't her. All her alibis checked out.

There was also Barry, his landlord. My brother was awful to his landlord, complaining at the slightest of sound, demanding every problem he found be dealt with immediately, threatening to sue. It would just be easier if such a client were gone. But there was a business meeting, run by him a few towns over, at the time of the murder.

Nico, the closest thing my brother had to a best friend, was furious with my brother. The woman my brother had an affair with was his wife, which can give any man murderous thoughts. On top of that, my brother became a millionaire by taking one of Nico’s ideas, making it, and taking claiming the idea as his own. Nico say he was home at the time of the murder, but he lives alone (He and his wife are obviously not on good terms) in the middle of the country and has no alibis. His fingerprints were not found anywhere near food or on any of the dishes, so there is no enough evidence against him. Besides, there is one more candidate much more promising.

And then there was Tarra, my brother’s teenage daughter. My brother wouldn’t tell her who her mother was. He only met the woman twice, the second to retrieve Tarra, of whom she did not want. You can guess the kind of man my brother was by not. Tarra has every right to be angry. My brother never really treated her like a daughter, so she was always gone. She was always screamed at that she was a mistake and nothing but a burden. Never could she forget that nobody loved her, and that nobody ever would. She was a worthless orphan who had no family. Never was sha aloud to find her mother. My brother hated Tarra, and Tarra hated my brother. She was at home with my brother at the time of the murder, feeding him dinner. She was the one who called in is body after it being found. She claims it was not her, but all of the facts are stacked against her.

The police are making a case and ready to take Tarra in. I feel awful for the girl. She claims it wasn’t her, and the girl doesn’t lie.

Jan. 22, 2013

The police arrested Tarra. She lost the court hearing and is being sent to Juvie. For how long, I don’t know. I left the hearing once I realised that there was no way she could win. I feel sick to my stomach. Poor Tarra doesn’t deserve this. I need to rest.

Jan. 31, 2013

Tarra was found dead in her cell this morning. A note was found in her hand, stained with tears, that read:

I’m sorry. I tried to get help, I tried to find a way that I wouldn’t have to do this. I tried, but I just can’t live with myself. My father and I may have been far from getting along, but I love him, and I couldn’t kill my worst enemy even if I wanted to. I did not kill him. No matter how the facts are read, I did not kill my father. But everybody thinks I did, and I can’t live with that. I can’t live with everybody thinking that I’m a murderer. Even if I were cleared, there would alway be that suspicion. I’m sorry for those who hurt over the loss of my father as much as I do. I’m sorry I put an extra weight onto you. Someday, I hope you can forgive me. Please tell my mother, whoever she is, that I always loved her, no matter what, and that I regret that I shall never meet her. I’m so, so sorry. Goodbye.

The entire family, though morning the loss of Tarra, now feels an uncontrollable sense of relief. The murderer was dead. They don’t know how wrong they are. The murderer isn’t dead, but has just taken another victim. This one not intentional, but a victim all the same. How do I tell them all that though? I’m going to be sick again.

Feb. 15, 2013

No matter how hard I try, I can’t get my mind off of my brother and poor Tarra. They didn’t deserve to die, and the murderer is still out there. Someone the never thought to convict. Not Linda. Not Barry. Not Nico. And not Tarra. Definitely not Tarra. She was just another victim. There were other fingerprints in his house. Fingerprints that were overlooked by the police. Fingerprints, that looked exactly like my brother’s, but weren't. They belong to another. They belong to a twin. They belong to me. I killed my brother.

I loved him, but he hurt so many people. So many people. I thought the world would be so much better without him. He wouldn’t be able to hurt anybody anymore. But in the process, I became just like him. I hurt people. I killed someone else, a child. I thought I could make the world better, but I made it worse. What do I do? I can’t tell my family. If I tell them, I will hurt them again, reopen a wound, make them loose someone else. But I can’t not tell them either. It’s killing me. I’m sick all of the time, slipping into depression. I could take Tarra’s rout, but then I would hurt people again. I don’t know what to do. Why, oh, Why did I ever kill him? Why did I think It would work? Now, I’m worse than he was.

Feb. 20, 2013

I turned myself in. I couldn’t live with myself. They sentenced me to death. I deserve it. I caused so many people pain, and they must suffer once more. But once I’m gone, that pain won’t come again. My brother. Tarra. Now me. Why did I think it would be worth it? Why did I think it would work. I killed my brother. I. Killed. My. Brother. This is my goodbye. And my I’m sorry. So very, very sorry.

I forgot to post my poem. It is a Shakespearean Sonnet. Hope you all enjoy. Or maybe you all will cry. Who knows? We shall soon see.

My time with with you was as sweet as candy,

Though at times I might have been real stupid.

My time with you was so fun and dandy,

And felt as though I was struck by cupid.

Your final words were strange like all flowers,

When you died in your hospital bed.

Your death made me cry for many hours,

And I feel like I should be the one dead.

Your death was about a few years ago,

And I forgot your beautiful smile.

I wait for someone to make my heart glow,

But that probably won’t be for a while.

This so plainly comes to my attention:

That I am in a state of depression.

This thread is dying!