the black hair and the crown tattoo

Warnings: implied murder, implied insane asylum

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    The sunlight beat a dazzling glare against the healthy leaves, shielding the light from Everett Carrio and Vincent Carrio. The brothers' backs pressed against the fresh, dewy grass, making the backs of their jacket's damp. The verdant scent was stained into the breeze. The smell morphed Vincent's face into disgust, but Everett found the aroma appealing. Vincent never understood why his elder brother appreciated the scent, but he thought that it'd have to do with the fact that the area was sentimental to him.

    An early morning wind swept passed them. The cold breeze flew through Everett's coat and it made his whole body shiver. He glanced over toward his motionless brother and saw that he was unaffected by the sudden puff of air and how he continued to gaze at the leaves above him.

    "Are you seriously not freezing right now?"

    Vincent continued to look up at the pale blue sky and tree they sat under, "I have a jacket on."

    "Well, that doesn't take away from the fact that it's bitterly cold out here."

    Vincent had a hint of reassurance in his voice, "Well, I guess it does for me."

    His simple response satisfied Everett enough that he stopped persisting. After a long pause, Vincent spoke again, "If you think about it, it could always be worse."

    Everett, now with a curious expression, looked at his brother once again, "How so?"

    Vincent answered without looking back at him, "Think about what everyone else in the world is going through. It's too cold or too hot."

    "And never right."

    Curiosity finally grabbed Vincent and made him face his older brother, "How is that?"

    "The world can never be," Everett paused with a hint of disgust in his voice and face, "right."

    Everett continued, "And don't forget about our fellow humans who are six feet under. They're freezing right now."

    "That's one way to think about it," Vincent loosely accepted the response, but was a little disgusted and disturbed by the darkness of it.

    "Could you imagine," Everett took another pause to think, "not resting peacefully. Always uncomfortable. You're always cold."

    "No blanket or little brother to keep you warm."

    "Or older brother."

    "I'm sure that you'll die before I do."

    A small smirk of mischief formed on Everett's face and his shoulders shrugged, "We never know."

    "That's highly unlikely," Vincent played along with his older brother.

    "What if I killed you right now?"

    "Why would you even think like that?" His confusion was mixed with a hint of disgust, "Well, first of all, I'd be dead, so I couldn't do anything. Otherwise, I'd think that you were psychotic, went through a gothic phase, dyed your hair black, and got a crown tattoo, calling yourself king," Vincent thought of every crazy thing imaginable that would suit his brother.

    "You really think that sounds like me?" Everett almost sounded offended.

    "I think it matches."

    Everett returned his gaze back at the sky and hummed to himself. Vincent kept looking at his brother longer.

    "What do you think death feels like?" Everett broke the short silence.

    "What do you mean?"

    "Is it cold there too?" The topic of coldness returned.

    Vincent looked at the sky and thought to himself. They both lay there for minutes on end, just enjoying everything. During the time they spent, Vincent learned to empathize with the scent of the grass he claimed to dislike.

    Unfortunately, the scene ended for Everett. The wet grass and cerulean sky slowly faded out in Everett's eyes. He looked at Vincent one last time before he too, faded to solid white, leaving the gunmetal blue of his brother's pupils plastered into his mind.

    Once Vincent and the outside paradise was gone, the room he was trapped in revealed its details. Everett found his arms strapped back into place against his chest in the tight straps like they always were. The verdant scent was replaced with a revolting stench. He loathed it.
The loud banging noise of flesh against metal broke him out of his hypnotic daydream, "Carrio, it's time for your morning medicine."

    Everett was hesitant in his unperturbed response, "Of course, doctor."

    The doctor outside of the door relieved himself of not having to force cooperation. He walked away to retrieve the pills for his patient.

    Meanwhile, Everett sat in the middle of his padded room, smiling at the precious memories, while he sat with his black hair and crown tattoo.