The Fruits and Vegetables of My Boredom

The Root of Despair

There's a tiny secret I must confide in you. Although I hate to admit it, this fact is the truth.

I detest my older brother.

There are many reasons to support that statement.

For one thing, he is father's son. I, on the hand, am adopted. I knew from the beginning because the word 'adopted' had bounced around the mansion walls quite a bit—mostly from the maids. But, I never understood the reality of it until my age hit the double digits and my older brother sneered it out on an odd evening full of contempt. The actuality hit me in a cold, frigid wave of realization. 'Adopted' meant my brother and I didn't share the same blood. I was an extra addition, intruder to the family.

Secondly, his eyes. They were the type that caught attention without even asking for it. Alluring. Hypnotic even. Such deep and bright colours swam in them that it was easy to get lost if you stared too long. Though, in all honesty, I don't have any reason to hate my own eyes. They are a dark, dark brown. Almost black. Almost. It is the commonness of brown eyes that infuriates me. Everyone has them. There is nothing unique about it. It is at times like these that I silently curse my bland genes.

Another reason, his charm. He had the ability to draw people to him. He was wittier than he should have been. He had a certain amount of charisma that made people instantly like him. I had been enchanted by it too. It was around the time I first came to live at the manor. As with most people, I, an innocent four-year-old, had fallen for his eyes—and basically everything about him—in a burst of childish admiration. I used to copy him all the time and he, regarding me with amused exasperation, would only give a tight-lipped smile. It was when the maids told me more about that smile that I stopped. As good as he was at hiding it, my brother didn't like me much. He hated me, actually. And knowing that hidden fact hurt me more than I could possibly describe.

Which leads to the fourth and last point; his disdain for me. There was no way for me to know he abhorred me. We did everything together at the beginning, but as he got older, he drifted away. The maids said he only put up with me because he had to be nice to his brother. Father would be pleased that way. Although, there were certain instances where he let slip his dislike. My brother told me many lies and for the longest time, I believed them to be true. After all, how could a child tell between fact and fiction? I took every word he spoke as the truth and didn't doubt it in the least. Even when he told me that chocolate milk comes from brown cows. And that in big cities like Toronto, the fourth beacon on a traffic light is actually a blue light meant for ambulances. Stupid little things that seem so absurd now.

When he murdered our family, I understood the depth of his hatred. I promised myself right then:

I would kill him.

I would kill him.

I would kill him.

~♣~

Oh my, this is one furious child...

But, you must ask yourself these questions before you respond: Is this kid just over-reacting? Was his brother just acting like a typical sibling? Was all of the information from trustable sources? 

Think carefully ;)

~May out.