The archive of the forgotten

consider yourself brave

I look at my brother. His friend sitting on his shoulders, laughing and trying to get a floating ball out of a tree. I feel a smile on my face while I feel a tear in my eye. They are wearing uniform of the boarding school we're on, his tie is tied sloppily around his waist to replace a belt and Shilah is wearing it half undone. Shilah is my brother's best friend, I envy Shilah. Me an my brother, Etienne were once incredibly close. Untill he got problems with my parents, both parties refuse to tell me what those fights are about. Etienne says it's just the fact he'll never measure up and my parents say it's "complicated".

I hate the fact that Shilah is with Etienne at every minute of his life, well almost every minute. I hate that Etienne smiles brighter when Shilah is in the room, I hate the fact that his eyes glisten everytime he sees shilah. I hate shilah, with his stupid mullet and his auburn hair, I hate the scars on his face, through his eyebrow, I hate the bright green eyes of Shilah, the elegant fingers, the beautiful lips, the tanned skin, the pure freckles, I hate the fact that he only has one tattoo, a tattoo binding him to my brother. I wipe the tears away and look back at my book. The hard wood of the tree I'm sitting against is unforgiving to my strained back. My eyes follow the lines but can't uderstand them. I sigh

I hate this strange form of jealousy. I hate the way I envy my brother. Even though everytime he comes home the piercing eyes of my family could hurt anybody, they could kill him. But he, he almost loves the hatred. He feeds off of it. He feels like if that hatred is proof his disdain for his own family is justified. The way he smirks when everyone stops talking when he enters the room at family gatherings. The one who strayed some call him. I think it's a load of bullshit, blood is thicker than water, that's what they used to say. But maybe they never meant it. What do they ever mean, they lie half the time, but that's how you become as influential as we are.

"Smile" A photographer says as he snaps a picture of Shilah and Etienne, "You look like brothers!" One of their friends says as they look at the polaroid. I feel such a fire lightning up in me. I stand up, I need to pack. We'll be going back home again soon.

There's this memory etched in my brain, I was too young to really understand. Well, perhaps I was foolish, not too young. They were talking about a change in their approach to something, they were all theorises when he spewed out the black glistening smoke and chuckled. Everyone looked at him, he was sitting there, smirking arrogantly in his black greenish suit, the same colour of our coat of arms. A defiant look in his eyes and his arms crossed. "What is your suggestion" My aunt said with raised eyebrows. He looked her in the eye, whipped back his long black wavy hair as he sat back in the divan and his mouth curled up, he knew that this would be the question he would get. "I would simply tell the truth for once." He said. I remember hearing sniffles in his room that evening. "What is it' I asked him as he refused to look a me. "Allergies" He said trying to cover up the bloodstains on his dressshirt.

We're sitting in the stupid black rolls toyce wraith from 1939. "Did you know there aren't a lot of these in the world?" Etienne says, trying to start a conversation. He is wearing a black turtleneck, a formal vest and a wide black pantalon. Normally he wears wildly different things but the first day back home he always makes an effort to still impress our parents. "You know I can hear you" He says, he is frustrated with me that much I know. I always forget he is a reader, somebody who can read everybody's mind.  We all have one ability, and mine is stupid, it is the most common one, a memorizer. I can see one's memories, but only if they give me access. I envy readers, they can also shape one's thoughts if they're strong enough. But before you're 18 it's illegal to use that as a reader. "I wish you said those things out loud Bastien." He says in a disappointed tone as he steps out of the car into the gravel of our long driveway. We both look at the magnificent manor. the mostly green windows look bright in comparison to the rest, which is almost black. in the sun the Mort Manor looks friendly and welcoming, but when there's clouds it reveals it's face. Such darkness, such despair it almost feels like it was build to warn people. 

We are walking up the stairs to refresh outselves before we meet our parents again when I finally have the courage to ask him. "Etienne, why do you love to be a martyr?" He promptly turns around, his dark blue eyes now seem black and his nose is curled in the same expression of disdain he is used to seeing on his family's faces. "Martyr you say" He narrows his eyes, "Are you jealous brother? I never asked to be like this. I never asked to know what my mother thinks of me, I never wished to ruin somebody's marriage because I didn't know better than the truth. I never chose to be different, I never chose to think in my own way. I never chose to be born in this fucked up family. Neither did you, but you seem to like it here. If you want to be like me, go ahead," He takes off his black leather gloves, the green light shines on his white face, making it look as if he is dead. He shows me his hands, riddled with purple stains and scars. "Go ahead. take it, take the blessed life of not belonging. Take the courage of being different, I promise I never asked for it." He drags down the collar of his turtleneck, revealing red lines of scars across his neck. "I'm slowly suffocating, literally and figuratively, excuse me for feeling bad for that. Please, I beg you, take my ability to be authentic, but if you do remember that the mother you love is infinetely more cruel than you think she is. Now choose Bastien Audric Mort, your mothers love. Or loving yourself, and perhaps considering yourself brave for that."

I look into my mothers eyes when we're sitting at the table, her beautiful blonde hair in an old fashioned bun and such loving eyes. But her eyes change as soon as Etienne tells her something, that hatred, where does it come from mother? How could you hate your child so much?

I'm aware it's all over the place but with some editing perhaps it could be okay