I almost indirectly killed my little brother when I was 12 years old.
I remember we were playing outside in a playground that had a lot of trees surrounding it. Me and my brother were the only kids there as the town we lived in had a small population so we had the whole playground for ourselves.
I was drawing and he was as usual trying to climb the trees as far as he had the courage to.
I have love-hate feelings for my little brother.
I love him because he can be cute and it’s my responsibility as the oldest sibling to take care of him when my parents can’t
Yet but I can’t also help but despise and envy him sometimes.
When I was younger my parents would often harshly punish my mistakes by dragging my ear and then lock me in the dark bathroom for some odd hours. For me, being locked in that room felt like I was in a nightmare because it was dark, but light enough that I could see parts of the shower curtain which because of it’s splashes of colour designed on it, it formed into an imaginary monster in the dark staring back at me.
Once my father dragged my ear too hard and I started to bleed.
Even with that I love my parents, especially my mother that is similar to an idol for me.
I know they only punished me for my own sake because they loved me.
At least that’s what they always told me but it’s hard for me to feel loved when they treated my brother with more kindness whenever he did a mistake. Sometimes mistakes even more serious than what I’ve ever done like getting into fights, constantly getting bad grades, stealing candy, never doing his chores but he’s often forgiven because they say “he is just a kid”.
I also used to be very jealous of him stealing all my parents attention and he would always get more presents that were more expensive than anything what I’ve ever had gotten.
My father even killed my kitten because she brought home too many birds and it annoyed him.
Back in the playground I thought of this while I was watching my brother climb up that tree.
I remember he would shout at me
“Look ____! Look how high up I am!”.
He was a fairly 4 meters up that tree and he was starting to get scared and prepared to climb down.
That particular tree species branches can be very fragile and the higher up you are the more fragile.
I wanted him to fall, I wanted him to fall and perhaps break his leg or arm.
I remeber I smiled and told him how proud I was but then I asked him if he could climb up higher.
I teased him about how he was such a coward if he didn’t climb up higher because knowing my brother, he would never say no to a dare.
He climbed higher and the branch he stood on went with a loud snap.
I saw him fall down through the other bigger branches and then down on the bush that was located underneath the tree.
He was crying and had a huge wound on the back of his neck, a wound on his arm and scratches all over. His whole face was covered in blood.
Even now several years later he still has a big scar on his neck.
Thinking about it, if the bush wasn’t underneath that tree he would’ve fallen directly into the asphalt and there would have been nothing there to act as a cushion for him.
If the wound on his neck had been just a little bit deeper.
