The Death of a Brother

if i was life, my brother was unmistakably death.

If I am life, I have to say that my dear brother is death. I know, it sounds weird, but my brother and I have always been very close. In fact, they are probably is not a single thing in this world I have not told him. He knows everything. So I guess it’s no surprise I know everything about him as well.

My brother is the reason I still choose to live in this desperate little world called “Earth”. He is, well, many people I know believe he is handsome, and he sort of is, but I would never say that, I mean, come on folks, he is my brother ,for heavens sake., Besides, there needs to be some sibling jeering. If only a little. It’s actually rather healthy. Anyway, he is funny, he is sweet. He is tough too, always a contradiction. So if he acts sweet or sincere or sensitive you know he means it.

In Japan, he would be called a tsundere. Tough on the outside, soft and mushy on the inside. Only showing kindness to those who deserve it. The one thing I must tell you, though, is the fact that he is so protective of me. He is a push-over with me, and goes to great lengths to protect me. If someone messes with me, he is there. If someone yells at me, he yells back. And if, heaven forbid, someone chooses to fight me, well, they do not get the opportunity. Sometimes it can be annoying, the way he always steps in front of me, or tries to control me when I make decisions. But mostly, I am grateful.

He is quiet though. Unbelievably so. He doesn’t like to speak, and when spoken too, he always chooses the shortest (but most smart alec) answer. I like him for that. I however, am loud. I like to talk as loud as I can, and talk often, so everyone in the world can hear me. I don't know, mom just says I am “opinionated”. ,But whatever, it doesn’t really matter to me. I like to rant, too. That is another trait we have in opposite.

If you’ve ever heard of “Greek Mythology” then you have probably heard of the twins, Apollo and Artemis. Apollo is the god of the sun, and of music. His voice rings out among all the heavens, and all the muses bow to him. His hair is as bright as the sun with eyes as blue as the sky. With his deep tanned skin, he was handsome. His sister, Artemis, is goddess of the moon, the hunt, and of maidenhood. She made a vow never to marry, and she travels with a band of 50 young maidens. They are skilled hunters, and can only die in battle. As long as they do not fall in love with any male, they will live forever, just as they are. She is cold and calculating goddess. Her hair, pitch black, tied in a long plait with a silver ribbon. Her eyes were as dark as night. Her skin was paler than the moon. She was beautiful. Apollo had golden arrows like sun rays, and was very painful should you get hit with one. Artemis however had silver shafts, soft as the moon. With her moon ray arrows, you would fall asleep, and never wake up.

A lot of people liked to compare me and my brother to Apollo and Artemis. We were so different, me and my brother. The exact opposite of each other, and yet, we loved one another. Just like them. But really, we are the exact opposite of Apollo and Artemis.

I am more like Apollo. What, with my blue-gray eyes, and my dirty blonde hair. I do not even know what color my hair is. It’s something like a dirty blonde light brown caramel sort of color. Just like my mother. My skin was even tanner than my brother’s was. And I love the times of day when the sun was the most apparent. Such as dawn and dusk. Sunrise and sunset. The colors were so pretty.

My brother is more like Artemis., He is so calm and collected. He loved the dead of night. Sometimes, he would sneak out onto the balcony to watch the stars., I would see him there; watch him for a little while. His pitch black hair blowing slightly in the light breeze. His plaid, fur lined coat swaying. And though I could not see it, I knew my brother’s green-gray eyes were flashing. I would look, if only for a few minutes, and feeling as though I was intruding on this quiet moment, I would retreat to my own room, adjacent to his. I would then fall asleep, and wake about an hour later. Upon waking up, I would sneak back into his room (he’d leave the door ajar) wondering if he would still be there, even though I knew he would be. Sliding open the screen door to the outside, I would rest a hand on his shoulder.

The first time I did this, he jumped clean out of his pale skin (a rarity)., But as time went on, he got more and more used to it, and now he only even startled if he was particularly lost in thought. You could always tell by the far away look in his eyes. He would regard me for a second, and then look back out. ,He’d tilt his head, so slightly, the untrained eye would not, could not catch it. But I would. Then I would look out, in the direction he gestured too. The stars were the brightest in that part of the sky, so close to the moon and its silent beauty. My brother would tilt his head then, as if listening to the breeze calling out his name, asking some unspeakable question. His eyes would close, just for a millisecond, and at that moment, I could see all the pain he was suffering. Every little thing that was wrong in this world as his mask fell, face contorting into unsurpassed pain. And as if in answer, he would whisper, so quiet my ears strained to hear.

“It’s beautiful…”

It’s beautiful. Yes, it was. So, that is what I told him.

“yes, it is” I would talk just as quiet as he did., He would look back at me, as if he forgot I was even there. Maybe it was a good thing. It just meant he was comfortable with my presence in this moment I could only call intimate. ….Right?

Sighing, he would look to his precious sky one last time, a forlorn expression his face, as if saying good-bye forever to a long lost childhood friend. He had turn to go inside, back facing me. To him, he probably thought he never really would see it again. But the next night, the same thing would happen. And each time, I had die inside just a little more. I knew though, that he already was. In these moments, he reminded me so much of my father. He looked just like him.

My father died in a car crash when my brother and I were five. He was killed by a drunk driver one rainy night. He was coming home from his job at the company. I would never forget that.

“Your father,” my mother said, tears welling up, “has…d…d…” she could not finish the sentence, but I understood. We were so young and yet we understood every word that was said to us. Dead. After the funeral, which was so emotional, my mother broke down on the floor sobbing, and my lovely aunt had to take over, me and my brother sat on his bed. I had never seen my mother like that, and it scared me more than anything in the world.

“Brother…” I whispered looking him in the face. “I’m so…I do not want to…I’m afraid I might…” I did not want to finish the sentence.

“What’s wrong, sissy? he said putting an arm around my shoulder.
“Forget him” I whispered, peering up at his reaction. Yes, that was it; I did not want to forget my father’s smile, those warm, green eyes. My brother quickly removed his arm, swiveling me around roughly to face him. His hands clasped on my shoulders, squeezing them. The warmth from my brothers eye completing gone, now.

“NO. Whatever happens, you cannot think that way!” his hands tightened, and I have to admit, it did hurt, so I winced, and whimpered at his tone of voice. “Dad was great. Do you hear me?!” he practically snarled. I could only nod meekly. This was the first and only time I had ever been spoken to like that by my brother. His hands loosened. His expression remarkably softened. And he even smiled, if only a tad, at me. I could no longer control myself, and I broke down crying. He pulled me closer, putting my head down, so I was sobbing into his shoulder. He put his chin on my head, and I could feel my hair wet as silent tears streamed down his face. He was always so much stronger than I. when I completely broke down, he was there. Nothing was the same after that.

That was the moment my brother died. The day he sold his soul. To whom, I had no idea. He just…wasn’t all there anymore. Its the day he became quiet. The day his fire flickered. And I miss that side of my brother so much.

I then took on the role of life. I tried to be more vibrant. I tried to find something funny within everything, no matter how depressing. I never cried. If I cried, I was afraid everything would tumble down. Everything that we had work so hard to try to fix would just…disappear, but really, I just as dead on the inside as my brother. I had nothing left to live for, nothing to care enough about to live for. I was alive, but was I really living? But I had him; I had him to care for. I had him to live for. The only reason I was alive, it was all him. And so I did.

But my brother, now he was alive. He took on the death persona. Sure, he was never negative, he was not mean, or cruel, but that was all for me. When he let me, I could see that about him. Just as he was the bane of my existence, I was his. He lived for me. He was not alive, though. You can clearly tell that. Well, I can, at least. On the inside, well, he had no inside. He was so dead.

But, I refused to pity him. I absolutely, completely, irrefutably, refused to pity him. Why? Because he did not need pity. In fact, he hated that ‘sympathy’ the sly comments people made behind our back, feeling badly for us.

“Oh those poor dears… they probably cannot afford very much now.”
The worst was when they made stuff up about our dad
“He was probably drunk too…what, with two little ones to take care of and a job that was going no where…”
My brother hit a guy for saying that. It took three people to hold him back, and me to talk him down. 

We were both dead, him and I. And yet, all day, we had to pretend we weren’t. We had to pretend that we did not cry at night, or ask ourselves why over and over again.
Why?
That was the question.
The answer being million dollar.

Why did two innocent pre-teens have to do this? Why did we have to spend out time dreaming of what could have been?

“why, I am not sure why.” My brother would contemplate, placing a finger on his lips. “Huh. Everything happens for a reason though.”

If everything happened for a reason, what was the reason for this? What reason was there for dad to die? For this to happen? Whatever it is, I knew my brother was there. I knew he would always be there., Or at least, I hoped he would be. My brother was the best thing that ever happened to me.

If I was life, then my brother was unmistakably death. But at these moments, the ones we share when nobody else is watching, and we can be who ever we want to, he was never more alive. He was so happy then. And I loved that. It was then, and only then, we actually had the reason to be alive.

Author's Note

OK! i know, i haven't posted in a while. but here something is! if there are any little typos that were missed, please let me know =D
hoping to maybe turn this into a little bookish type thingy-ma-bob. if i get enough interest in it, that is.
looks and personality traits based off of me and my actual brother, Wolfboy. this story did not actually happen, but our lives are pretty much the same as described.
special thanks to my wonderful Beta, InkSlinger!
Review?

Reviews

[.:Lu:.]

nice! i have to agree with brad. forget 5, i give it 6.

[wolfboy]

Awesome story. I think you captured our personalities perfectly. Anyway nicely writen, and full of detail. I give it 5 stars.