My mind flickers as I realise what I did, my brothers face inches from my own. His face still contorted with pain.
Machine gun fire brings me out of my daze I grasp his body in my arms and shield myself as I sprint towards a building to escape the rapid shower of bullets descending down onto us. I feel the tears for my brother slide down my face in an endless torrent. I hadn't heard from my brother in months I had assumed he was dead before, yet here we are one alive, one dead. I cradle his body protecting him from the broken glass that lays strewn across the dusty floor. I don't know how long I sit there on the cold wooden step all I know is that I killed my brother and that I will never forgive myself for this abomination that I have committed.
I hear a soft creak from the worn wooden steps behind me I turn slowly expecting to see my enemy but instead I see... Harold, an old friend from my childhood who had left Ireland years ago. He limps towards me and my brother. I nod my head as a sign of hello. Harold leans over me to see the dead mans face, his eyes instantly sadden with recognition of who he was. He envelopes me in a hug hoping to lessen my pain that tiny bit. We sit there in silence until the sun shines intensely into the few unbroken windows of the shop.
We crawl to the back of the shop to avoid gunfire on the main street, an alley leads to a small shack like structure supported by the sturdy brick building behind. We enter the dark musty room and Harold points towards a low rickety table, on a chipped China plate lay a few stubby candles, beside the plate there are a small box of matches, I light a candle and the flame whooshes upwards I pass the plate to him and continue to carry James. We follow a set of narrow stone stairs into a dank underground corridor that seems to go on forever, a few torches flicker bravely in the moist air struggling to stay lit.
Finally we reach the end and come out at an old Irish pub that he says he owns, I place James in a chair and slump into my own. A cracked but clean glass is placed in front of me I lean forward and grasp it, I tilt my head and gulp the clear cold liquid down my throat and roll the glass between my rough blacked hands. My brain is struggling to comprehend the fact that I killed my own brother. I hear my name and look up and see Harold staring at me with a concerned stare I look down and see the glass smashed into pieces on the lacquered floor my hands are shaking and I feel the sensation of hands on my back guiding me towards a bed covered in a soft blue quilt I'm lifted into the bed with a grunt and fall into a dreamless sleep.
I wake up many hours later feeling refreshed and happy then it all hits me. I killed my own sibling, I killed him, he's dead. Those words race through my grieving mind. I lay there my thoughts in turmoil. My right arm aches and I look at my forearm and see a stark white dressing covering my fresh wound from yesterday.
I sit in the bed looking around my room noticing a few sparsely placed pictures on the plain white walls, a small dresser sits in the corner, a wash basin on top of it. Slowly I groggily get out of the bed not wanting to face my reality, I drag my feet over to the wash basin in the corner, I splash my face with cold water wincing as the liquid hits my face. I exit the room to see a crude wooden coffin with a wooly lining and my brother lying peacefully inside it on the low sturdy table, his eyes closed with new shiny pennies.
A solid woman donning an apron beckons me over to the counter, a steaming mug of hot tea and toast are set before me on the shiny pockmarked surface. I accept the food gratefully and hold the warm mug in my cold hands I start to relax and enjoy my breakfast. Afterwards Harold enters the spacious room with its thick wooden beams and tall tables, he pulls up a stool and presents me with a letter from my parents to my brother I slide the paper out of the envelope and unfold the smooth paper, and begin to read:
Dear James,
My dear boy how are you? Your father and I welcomed your last letter with joy seeing as we had heard some awful news that many men had been found dead after being held hostage in a tunnel under a house. We are sending this letter because you need to find Robert and bring him home as soon as possible. There's been a terrible farm accident involving your father, he may not live for very long. He has asked to see each of you.
Love Mary-Anne,
I ask Harold for a pen and paper, He hands them to me a moment later after rummaging through his office desk drawers. I sit back down again and hold my hand in the position of writing, my hand rests there for a second and then the words come flowing out of my hand onto the silky smooth office stationery.
Dear Mother,
This is Robert. I'm writing in place of James because he is unable to do so right now. Yesterday while I was lying in wait to take down my enemy I was shot in my forearm. And I don't know how to tell you this but I..killed James. It happened all too fast. I didn't know it was him I thought it was a random person but my curiosity was overwhelming I had to see who I had shot, and it was James. I'm so sorry that the words could not convey it.
Signed Robert,
The ink bleeds as my tears drip down my face onto the paper and I hurriedly fold the paper and slip it into the envelope I pass it towards Harold and he puts the necessary stamps on it and asks a maid to deliver it to the post office. He guides me to an armchair I sink into its plush cushions and I gratefully accept the mug placed before me. I wonder what I'm going to do now that my parents probably won't accept me anymore and that they were my only family.
I leave the room after a while to go for a smoke. I enter the dim low ceilinged room the smell of smoke lingers on everything. I pull a tattered packet of matches out of my pocket, I strike one against the paper, I hold the match close to the cigarette until the end catches. I blow the match out, the whiffs of fresh smoke calm me, they make it so I'm able to forget anything and everything. A few minutes later I still feel the remorse I felt when I found out that I killed him. My heart pangs with sadness. I break out in a cold sweat, I start to shake. I call out and my head feels dizzy, my stomach turns over and nausea rolls up my throat, I collapse into a shaking heap on the ground. I cry out a name any name, nobody comes, I lie there for a moment or so more.
I see my life flash before my eyes, all the ugly moments in my life and the happy ones. My last thought is "Where am I going now?"
I wake up a few days later unaware of the fact that I had collapsed and hit my head. I moaned as a wave of pain crashed into my head. A worried face peeks around the door. I gasp as I see my mother
By Livifox049
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So this short story is continuing after another short story called 'The Sniper' by Liam O'Flaherty. I actually wrote this for an English assignment in grade 8. The link for the story is below or on my profile.
