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Come. Make me dream that I am healing. ALBERT GEIGER, The Dying Maiden
Even a worm will turn, that's how saying goes. It didn't take much for a person to be pushed around to their breaking point nowadays. It didn't take much of anything to gain a reaction. If only the work turned faster then maybe....his brother would still be alive. It took so much for this feeble worm to finally turn the tables on its oppressors. Maybe it was because he was coddled too much as a child with his brother. Maybe it was because his brother protected him like a tall child. Maybe that is why.
Guilt was like a knife to his stomach. It twisted and turned, leaving his guts all over the floor in a dark corner. A pile of regret, disappointment, and grief was all that had fell from his guts. That was all there was. And guilt wouldn't free him. It would keep landing blows to his gut, to his back, to his sides. To his chest: right in his broken heart. It shattering into microscopic pieces that could never be repaired.
There were many things that he wished that he could've did differently before his brother bit the dust. There were so many things.
He cries. Over nothing sometimes, but he cries. And he wonders, why was life unfair to him? Why was the criminals that killed his brother in cold blood not behind bars or worse: being beaten to death in jail by prisoners. Why was everything so unjust? Anger build up through his throat and was held until he pushed it back as far as he could. But like an acid flex: it kept coming. Burning his vocal cords with each time he erupted in anger. Suddenly his anger overwhelmed his emotions, his reasoning, his senses, and just about everything. And his sweet voice was no more. His vileness only became more evident once his brother was rotting with the maggots. Because why was there a reason to be nice? Afraid of people not liking you? Not if you didn't have your brother. A mother. Or even a Father.
No, there was nothing to be happy about anymore. Absolutely nothing was exhilarating. Nothing would feel the same as the way his brother held him that warmed his inner child.
He yearned to heal this gaping wound in his gut. Wishing that all this pain would end — but then he remembered that all this pain was anger. Nothing but pure burning hatred. And it was only then that when he looked into his mother's legacy that heritage was something his family hid deeply. Very deeply. His mother could control the multiverse in her mind, dream hopping to whomever she wanted until she ended in the wrong place. Telling her parents, they only hissed at her like she was crazy, shooing her. She was shooed away from her own family. And his Father's family. They believed that she was in fact the spawn of some demon that caused God to pay with bad weather. And it was too late when they'd found out their son gotten some black demon pregnant. Or when they found out that she had been caused a death within the family. They shunned her their only daughter away to rot.
