Villain

Chapter 4

WREN

Bloody, coarse fur. A lumpy tangle of pink guts spilling out onto the sidewalk. The squirrel laid on its side with its belly cleaved wide open, the barest throbbing of its chest the only indication that it was alive. 

I remembered crouching by the gate of our estate, watching it die. I watched as the rise and fall of its chest slowed down, and as the quick twitching of its eyelids ceased. I remember looking around for a stick to poke it with. 

Death. Only a few steps from my doorstep. 

Though, I hadn't known it yet. I had sat a few paces away from it for nearly an hour, mesmerized by the repetition and gradual descent of its heartbeat. When it stopped moving completely, I felt like I knew it wasn't going to move again. I had turned away from it, leaving it forgotten, and trudged back through the gates on my pudgy legs so I could go tell my brother that I had shat in my diaper. 

Bishop was already walking out the door, however, calling out my name. His skinny shoulders had sagged with relief and the thin line in between his brows, that had been appearing more usually than not, had relaxed at the sight of me wobbling towards the house. His eyes strayed over my head, at the bloody carcass I had been so engrossed in just moments ago, and they seemed to water. 

I remember seeing all the blood drain from his face, and can still hear him gulp down the large lump that had formed in his throat. I had frowned back at the dead squirrel, willing it to move, twitch, or cry out-- anything that would indicate that it was still alive so my brother could play hero. I had no care for it. It wasn't significant to me in the slightest, but seeing the misery on Bishop's face had made me wish desperately for its mercy. 

I frowned at the recollection of the memory, lifting the side of my face from the top of my desk. I had fallen asleep  in the midst of doing homework, with my pen still clutched in my sweaty hand, and dreamed of the unsolicited memory. Everything was the same and just as vivid, including the look of helplessness on Bishop's face, but the only difference was that instead of the stupid squirrel, it was our mother taking her last breath while I sat there doing nothing.

My older brother, who's more than ten years my senior, was an animal lover. The idea of a living thing dying terrified him, and his fear only intensified after Mom died. Bishop loved to take care of others, both animals and people. But ever since he accidentally suffocated a mouse pup when he was trying to hide it from Dad, he stopped bringing lost animals into our home. 

I groaned at the throbbing in my head and leaned back on my chair, craning my neck back to stare at the ceiling. 

Thump, thump, thump

My face twisted unattractively as I realized the consistent thumping came from the headboard of the California King bed upstairs banging against the wall. I glanced down at the few pages of calculus that I've conveniently used to draw stick figures in various kamasutra positions and tossed them aside. Since I didn't want to stick around to hear the nightmare-inducing noises of my older brother porking his girlfriend, I slipped on a black puffer vest and hurried out of my room to go put shoes on in the foyer. 

"I'm heading out," I yelled out behind my shoulder before stepping outside. "Make sure you bleach whatever surface you breed on before I come back home for dinner." I doubt they heard that, but it really wouldn't make a difference either way.