Poetry and All Things Alike

Brother

A/N: Thank you guys so much for over a hundred views on this little collection of writing! It really means a lot to me. I'm going to try and update more often and continue to improve my work, so if you can keep reading and voting on my stories, that would be amazing! Thanks!

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At first, the images projecting behind his eyelids are dark, nearly impossible to see. The messages sent from pupil to brain just barley make it through.

But the field eventually breaks through into the foggy air, and the sounds of hatred tell it all.

Sweat runs down the side of his young rugged face, and mix with his bloody chin. All he knows is that his best friend is dead and he has been running away his whole life. The dying forest rings out with cries of a war that he never supported.

Moments later, the ground is gone and the man in front of him is approaching with green eyes.

He raises his weapon and his finger meets the trigger, his family cries

as his grandson is ripped from his mother's bare chest.

Although the nurses' voices are woozy and muffled, he knows the boy will die.

A set of ignorant fingers reach into his jacket pocket, begging papa for sweets

even though the child has barley formed any concept of vocabulary,

and he will never meet his little brother.

Born into celebration, but not love

the world it as a stand still.

Hitler is dead.

Dad is soon to follow.

At just 5, his youngest brother packs on 20 extra pounds,

and will remain that way

until the nightmares end

of the skeleton at the end of the dark hallway, coming closer and closer each night, until his teeth meet the child's lips.

Older now, the chubby youngest punches and kicks them, shouting "fuck yous" when the brothers return home red-eyed from Woodstock.

Jealousy temporarily blinds love and wisdom rejects sympathy

as he puts his hand over the 15 year old's shoulders, and holds him down so the eldest can get a good punch in.

Now

it is only moments

before car tires slide over ice

and drunken laughter becomes silent as dancing vehicles kiss headlights.

His only role model is gone.

Father was always gone,

but God has ripped away the only one left to look up to.

He can't help but hate his youngest brother

20 pounds underweight

for once again becoming a father to a baby girl

and for being a constant reminder of who they lost

and that they are the only ones left.

As his eyes open, gray and tired, he turns to his sleeping wife.

She obese, he unemployed. How much more time do they have?

Below him, a voice calls out for papa, and a small sickly hand reaches out for him,

years of survival now thrives.