My brother Steve had a bad stigmatism and needed prescription glasses. We went camping and because of his poor eyesight, Steve fell down a cliff face and died-- even though I crept up and saw, as he fell, that he was tumbling down a padded slope. But he died anyway, and landed in the river at the bottom.
My father was alive and with us somehow. We went to retrieve Steve's body and found it under the floorboards of an abandoned cabin, down in a secret cellar. My mom's second husband was being an asshole. The police showed up.
Steve's body looked like a broken GI Joe doll and I couldn't stop crying.