(Not so short) Stories

Tangled Thread

     It was late at night when I heard the living room door open with a quiet squeak. I looked up from my desk to see my brother Vincent stare at me with red sunken eyes, his sleek black hair wild and tangled like he had been wrestling with a bear. He was silent.
"Hey bro..." I whispered, closing my notebook for the night. "I didn't know you left." Vincent must not have cared for my words. He had already fallen head first to the couch's quilted cushions, out like a light. I sighed, turning off my desk lamp and deciding to catch a snooze myself.
    Carelessly tossing my dirty clothes to the corner, I climbed into bed with a confused thought in my head. I thought my brother had gone to sleep early tonight, but what did I care?  He never told Ma and I anything those days. My head shook at my careless thought, knowing that I was afraid for Vincent in my heart. I didn't even know if he still went to school with me anymore -- we only had one year of highschool left, and I wanted to spend it with him as brothers.
    We had always been a close knit family, ever since Vincent and I could remember. Neither of us could recall how we ended up with Ma, but she tells us we were gifts from heaven she found on the streets. Vincent always laughed whenever she said that, not because it was ridiculous, but because he couldn't find a better way to share his happiness than in laughter. He was always the sweetest little kiddie.
     I felt myself loosen to these bitter-sweet thoughts of the past. It was like a lullaby to my anxious mind. Maybe Vincent's just going through a phase -- that's what Ma always told me. I often tried to avoid thinking about what he'd end up like in the future. It hung over me in a ghostly white sheet -- somewhat like the costumes poor parents would make for their children on Halloween. It was always telling me things I never wanted to hear.
"Vincent hates you."
"Just ignore his existence."
"Nobody cares, and neither should you."
    It seemed like a stupid idea to listen to the ghost child in my mind. He just kept asking me for candy. It was hard to refuse his sweet little sugar-coated voice.

     I jolted when my alarm boomed 1:00 A.M. Wait... 1:00? One of the orphan kids must've messed with my clock again. I sluggishly rubbed my forehead from the sudden rise, tirelessly groaning from my measly three hours of rest. With slow movement, I tied my long hair up in a frizzy bun, then snatched my blinking alarm from its desk to fix the time to 6:00 A.M.
     There was a scream from the streets. I blinked, and my head turned to stare at the dusty white sheets blocking my view from outside. As of then, all I could focus on was shutting my eyes for another six hours, so I slipped back into bed and counted fluffy sheep in my dreams.

     The next morning, I poured myself a bowl of wheat cereal and sat at the kitchen table in silence due to the previous night. Ma was cooking up a special breakfast for Vincent: runny eggs and sweet, powdery pancakes she tried to cook in the shape of a smiley face. I shook my head.
     To my surprise, Vincent walked into the kitchen, wearing his favorite faded blue pajamas. I blinked. "Uh... Mornin' Vincent!" He didn't respond, but instead sat down across from me, letting his head hang low to the point in which his tangled hair covered his face. Ma sat his breakfast down in front of him. "How'd you sleep, sweetie...?" she asked in a delicate voice.
Vincent lifted his head from the table.
He was missing an eye.
     I covered my mouth, struck dumb by the sight of an empty eye socket and the strange dark blood gushing down his face. Bruises were painted across his skin, and deep cuts scattered up his bare cheeks and fingers. He had shown up to the table hurt before, maybe seven times, but never in such a display as this.
     Vincent didn't look to be in any pain. He just stared at me with a bleak, bored expression, and I stared back, horror-struck. Ma began to cry. She placed her shaking hands at Vincent's cheeks, wiping away the blood with her fingers. "V-Vincent," she stammered, "Wh-What happened!? You were okay last night a-and-"
"I'm fine," Vincent interrupted. Then, he began to eat his breakfast.
I remembered the scream last night.
"How do you feel?" I asked, but it wasn't me. Vincent tore his face away from Ma's hands.
"Powerful." I felt my face scrunch.
"You were in a fight, weren't you?"
"Yes," he replied, letting his fork slowly scrape against the smile of the pancakes. Ma had scurried away to fetch the first-aid kit in a panic.
"Why...?" I asked, standing from my seat. "Why are you fighting...? W-We used to be so close, brother... P-Please just tell me!" Vincent pushed his food aside. He stood and walked to the door.
"You will learn one day, Grey. Keep yourself hungry." And he left.
     Ma ran downstairs with the kit clutched in her hand. "Vincent!" she screamed and ran out the door after him, flicking her head left and right in search for her son, only to see that he had disappeared.

     It took almost an entire afternoon for her to find him, but Ma had finally caught up with Vincent. He refused to let her bandage him up, but Ma threatened to take him to the hospital or call the police if he didn't let her. Vincent eventually gave in and let her bandage his missing eye with a white clinic wrap and disinfect his wounds. "How does it not hurt...?" Questioned Ma with tears staining her cheeks red. Vincent shrugged carelessly. It seemed that he didn't know the answer.
     It was Saturday, so school had said goodbye to the week, and I had the day all to myself. My mind was in a wreck. Vincent was getting worse and worse every time I saw him. Speaking less, eating less, caring less. His words to me rang in my ears.
You will learn one day, Grey. Keep yourself hungry.
I didn't eat lunch.
     With a heavy head, I sat alone in the woods, wearing my favorite pair of blue overalls to try to cheer myself up. This didn't help much.
"Just ignore it all," the Ghost Child told me, "go enjoy yourself for once without worrying about that sad sack." I shook my head.
"No. I love him..."
"Then why don't you ever show it?" replied the Ghost Child in his wavy white sheets. I hit a palm against my forehead to shut him up. This didn't help much.
     Finally, I gave in to the sweet little voice. Snatching up a hunk of wood which lay beside me, I whipped out my pocket knife and began to carve away. I wasn't sure what I was making -- just that it would help me take my mind away from it all. Maybe I would make a little buddy to tell all my problems to.

     I remember a long time ago when Ma brought Vincent and me to the doctor for checkups. For some reason, Vincent would shiver and even scream if either of us ever mentioned the word to him. Neither of us knew why at the time. The doctor had to knock him out to give him his shots.
     Pretty soon, I found out why. The doctor said Vincent and I aren't like everyone else. It was something uncommon that we had. While Vincent was knocked out, the doctor showed me to a testing room where they studied rare illnesses. He gave me a slip of paper, I filled out a few questions, and finally, he told me that my brother and I had Shadonamois. I turned the paper around in confusion. He laughed, telling me that it was nothing to be afraid of, although he hid the fact that the sickness had barely been tested. He said that it was a tiny parasite in our minds that influence our decisions and thoughts. Then, the doctor showed me a test tube where a little black speck lay immobile inside. Being a curious little kiddie, I asked the doctor why it wasn't serious. He paused, and then he said that the sickness was only a problem in scary monsters that lived underground, and that my brother and I were human, so we had nothing to worry about.
"What if we aren't human?" I asked.
He said that would be ridiculous.
     Coming back from my moment of odd thought, I looked down to see what I had carved. It was a little wooden puppet with a single eye. I smiled, rubbing over its face with a thumb. "S'pose you haven't seen my brother, huh?"
     "Actually, I have." One of my school buddies took a seat beside me. I blinked, looking up from the wooden man. "You didn't really think it was talking, right?" my friend joked, patting my back with a heavy hand. I nodded.
"Yeah. That's crazy."
My buddy leaned back against a thin tree. "So, you said you were looking for your bro?" I nodded again.
"Yeah, I guess. I don't like to think about it too much."
"Ah, yeah. I get that, buddy." He smiled to me, continuing. "I saw him in the craft store just a second ago. Thought he was a banana cuz he was so bruised." I didn't say anything.
"Look man," My friend whistled for my attention, "If it makes ya' feel any better, I saw him sign up for a weaving class. Dreamcatchers and all that jazz. Maybe he's getting better hobbies, you know?"
"Yeah..." I answered, holding the wooden puppet tightly in my palms. My buddy sighed and rose to his feet.
     "Hope everything goes well for ya', man." And he left, no longer wanting to be a part of the sad conversation.

     I headed home around dinner once my stomach couldn't bear to be empty any longer. Ma was one the phone, nervously twirling the snake-like cord with a finger as she talked nonsense into the receiver. She must've been talking to the therapist.
     I heated up last night's dinner and trekked upstairs to my room, being sure not to bump into any of Ma's rambunctious orphan children on the way there. Then, I shut my door, slipping under the covers as I relaxed and ate my bowl of steaming vegetable soup in peace.
     However, something caught my eye as I ate. Next to my alarm sat a tiny hand-woven dreamcatcher, tied together with strands of grainy leather and glittery purple beads. I sat up, setting my soup in my lap to gently hold the gift in my hands. A card was propped up against my lamp. I opened it with my free hand, and it read:
"From Vincent, with love."
     "Vincent..." I felt myself whisper. I sat the card down to wipe my watery eyes and to admire the beautiful dreamcatcher. It felt warm, as if my brother had held it a long time before finally letting go.
     With a full heart, I ate the rest of my soup, shut off the lights, and drifted asleep,holding the dreamcatcher close to my heart. I remember having good dreams that night.