Falling for Deceit || WATTYS 2017

1

I leaned out of the quaint apartment's rotting window still, letting my eyes wander over the narrow, sleeping street that wasn't even remotely attractive in the shadows of the night. 1924's hot summer air was blown into my face by a soft breeze that did nothing to alleviate the sweat on my brow, and it carried the putrid stench of piss and garbage with it. "Tony?" I straightened again and turned away from our prestigious view in East Harlem, forcing a smile on my face as my little brother turned his head towards me. I walked over to the twelve-year-old, curled-up figure that rested on the worn couch before slowly settling down into the rickety chair by its side. I gently swept the back of my hand over his boiling forehead as his eyes met mine. Even though the darkness encircled us, I knew them to be baby blue. But they had lost their childlike sparkle and innocence and were now encased by heavy lids in a pale face, having been ravaged by the White Plagues' unrelenting destruction. Even though I was his sister, I felt as though I was slowly but surely losing my best friend. His halo of blond hair that had once been bouncy with charming curls was now a slick mess against his scalp. He was an angel who had been ruined by demons. "Tony?" Daniel repeated weakly, his voice a rasping croak in the silence of the dozing tenement building. I felt the tears spring to my eyes when his own lost focus, but I quickly wiped them away. Show no weakness. He's got it much worse. Even though I was twenty-one now, I felt as though I was the younger one. His body had become crippled by the disease, and the lines on his face made him seem so incredibly fragile.

"Yes," I answered quietly, resuming my soft strokes over his hot skin. His small body suddenly lurched to the side as another coughing fit ripped its way from his throat, and I could only watch as more blood splattered into the bucket. "There you go," I whispered, gently bringing him to his back again. I found the damp cloth on the side and dabbed at his red stained lips, before folding it over and using the other side to wipe the rest of his face. The heat seemed to press in on us even more as if laughing at my futile attempt to relieve his pain. "We don't have any more running water, fratello," I apologized, squeezing the bony hand that rested on his chest. 

"I'm scared, Tony," he whispered in the dark, and I saw him reach up to clutch the tiny blue hoop that hung from a black thread on his neck that I had made for him. I covered his hand with my own, feeling the moisture and the slick skin of his fragile limb. 

"You're allowed to be," I assured him with a small voice. "You're going to get better." I, myself, heard the hidden desperation in those words, but I forced a small smile when he tried to raise his head.

"Mi prometti?" he asked in a whisper in that familiar Italian accent, giving in without resistance as I softly pushed him back down again. His tone was full of naivete and hope. I felt a tug at my heart as the sadness desperately tried to claw its way past the iron cage around it. I smoothed his hair down that was slick with perspiration and nodded. 

"Yes, I promise." He tried to smile, but the strain in his jaw forced him to relax his face. Then, he reached up and ripped the black cord from his neck, opening up my palm with tiny, steady fingers and dropping the azure hoop. He curled my fingers around it and looked up at me with wide eyes.

"When you've held your promise, you can give this back to me," he murmured before yawning and letting his lids drop with fatigue. Before I could protest, he closed those beautiful baby blues. Emotion filled me and I wrapped the cord around my right wrist with trembling hands, my view clouding from the tears that began to spring. The hoop fell into place above the radius, sliding over my skin as I moved.

"Ti amo, caro fratello," I whispered, my words now falling onto deaf ears as sleep grasped hold of him.  I bent over and kissed Daniel on his pallid forehead, letting my lips linger there before straightening and rising to my feet. With one last, longing look I turned away from my little brother's body that shivered still in the abyss of sleep. The summer night seemed to grow denser as I padded through the minuscule room that made up our residence, and when I bumped into the tiny table by the kitchen cupboard, I fumbled with the box of matches until a meager flame appeared. Careful as not to blow it out and waste such a precious resource, I lit the degrading candle, its wax dripping down the sides in hefty masses like paper yellow goo. Amid the shadows and the deafening quiet, the burnt orange glow cast lines across the still and wrinkled faces of my parents. They were both bent over the table in their separate wooden chairs, their heads reposed on cradled arms. I picked up the candle by its rotten chamberstick as their deep breaths blew against the fragile flame before I brought it over and set it down beside my straw pallet. I hissed a bit as the hard edge of a straw bit into my back when I lay down, but I quickly brushed it away and lay down on my side, tucking my arms beneath my head. I stared at the dancing flame on the top of that candle, watching it consume more of the puny wax. It was dying, just like everything else around me, and it would soon reach its end at the bottom of that wick. Its lifeline was gradually disappearing from underneath its feet.