I Didn't Mean To

prologue

It's not like my brother was of any use per say. I didn't mean to kill him. He got in the way. It was his fault. Since he was as stupid as he was, it's a good thing he is dead. Who knows what kind of stupid thing he could have done in the future. So really my mother should've thanked me even if it was an accident. Instead she sent me away. She just couldn't understand that I didn't mean to. She was convinced that I did it on purpose; As if I was some sort of psycho. In all honesty from her point of view it might have seemed that way. Although, it wasn't like she never thought I wasn't a psycho.

She always thought I was a little off. I could tell, even when I was young. It's not like I knew I was different. I thought I was a regular person up until she sent me away. I thought I thought normally; acted normally; was normal. I guess not. I wonder why though. When I look back I wish she would have just told me. Maybe she could have saved me. Maybe I wouldn't have ended up where I was. Sometimes I think she could have helped me, taught me how to be better.

Then I remember how she didn't. She instead chose to worry about how others would look at me, how they would think of me, how bad I would grow up to be.  I know all this because it was quite obvious. The way she looked at me; she would look right at me with the same disgusted expression. Her eyes pointed down into almost straight lines, her eyebrows pulled together scrunched up, and her mouth somehow pointing up and down at the same time showing a disgusted sneer.

That look made me feel as if I couldn't do basic things. It's not like I was stupid she was just an overachiever with ridiculous standards; standards neither me nor my brother were able to reach. No matter how high my brother jumped, how long I ran, how we climbed and climbed trying to reach something that was beyond the stars while we were still barely grasping even the concept of the clouds.

My brother seemed to never accept the fact that he was never good enough but never looked like it. He always played it off. Acting all happy and joking around he was the smart class clown. While I decided that there is no point in looking for something that was never even for me to find. Those expectations were set for herself. She wanted us to succeed for her own benefit. So she could stand with pride and smugly say, "I raised that kid".

As if, everything was because of her. I know this because once only when I was able to become respectfully acknowledged by someone she respected she never said anything to me just told everyone we knew. My aunt and uncle, the teachers, the neighbors, even the cashier at the grocery. She would say, "My daughter met ........ and presented her the ...... award." The feeling I would get when she said that could only be described as used. Completely and hopelessly used. The look my brother would have was pure jealousy. You could see it on his face clear as day.

That award was displayed in her office; there was a copy on every single device in the house. That award was more important to her than I was.

Other than that she was pretty decent. She did what normal mothers did: took their kids to the park, went out to dinner every once in a while, visited amusement parks, and went to the movies. Compared to many other children I had a pretty good childhood.

Then, she had to ruin it. My brother did his best to calm her down that night. He was always good at that: Being the level-headed one. But then it just got worse and worse until he finally lost his composure. They started to fight. They both said some things they shouldn't have.

I just couldn't handle it. I took the knife. I threw it. It was all me. I guess my aim was off by the crazy environment they set–it was suffocating. Choking me, surrounding me. Looking back I wasn't in the best position. He was too close to her. And I missed. The knife went barreling into his chest, knocking him off his feet sending him crashing down along with any sense of hope of happiness in my life.