I’m going to kill him.
It wasn’t a figure of speech or one of those quotes that people used as a form of therapy to ease their enraged mind. No, I was seriously going to slaughter my older brother tonight. There was a line between sibling rivalry and complete warfare and my brother, Jeremy, had been audaciously stepping on the line, swinging his foot over it, but today he become bold enough to actually step over the line. I had no choice, but to declare war.
This wasn’t going to be one of those long wars with the hundreds of battle and the struggle for victory. Of course not, I was going to make sure that I obliterated him once and for all. You’re probably asking what my brother did to a sane fifteen year old girl, with the potential for greatness, to throw it all away by simply performing a deadly act of violence toward a family member.
Jeremy did one of the most immoral things a person can do to someone they’re supposed to love. My room is my sanctuary. It’s a place where I can take shelter from life’s hassles and the stress of being a teenager in a technologically dependent society that promotes conformity and fame. I’m sure that everyone has a place where they can escape from society and allow their innermost self to flourish.
Jeremy was a decade older than me. At twenty- five years old, I was certain he was old enough to claim the title “loser” since he was still living at home and leeching off my parent’s assets because he was unable to thrive in the world on his own. He turned my parents basement into his own little apartment complex. Some people might be impressed by this, but this is nothing that is worthy of praise and should be condemned and shamed.
Jeremy, in a sense, is my role model. When I say role model, I don’t mean someone that I would imitate, no, I wouldn’t dare corrupt my future that way. For me, he was a model of what not to be like. Everything he did, I made sure that I did the complete opposite to avoid following in his footsteps. I did well in school, obeyed my parents, and didn’t associate with losers who used me for money. That was Jeremy.
Without further delay, I will go on to tell you what Jeremy did that made me so angry. I had come home from studying at the library to find that there was a party taking place at our house, most likely without my parents’ consent since they were visiting a relative.
I fought my way through the crowd of drunken, wild party goers and made my way to my room. With the door closed, all appeared to be in order, but when I threw open the bedroom door I was greeted with a chaotic sight.
All the furnisher from the family room had been compacted into my tiny room, along with mountains of trash, empty beer bottles, and half eaten food. It looked as though someone had supernaturally driven a garbage truck through our house, up to my room, and emptied the contents gathered from the community’s garbage cans into my room. I couldn’t even see my bed because there was no much junk in my room.
I allowed my mouth to drop open and then I stood in the door for a moment waiting for myself to awaken from this nightmare. When nothing appeared to happen and the dangerously loud music continue to blare in the background, I realize that this wasn’t a dream.
I felt like my blood was being placed in a pot and boiled over a hot stove by my anger. I dug my teeth deeply into my lip with enough intensity to cause my lip to bleed and my teeth to shatter. There was only one thing on my mind and that was getting revenge.
I travelled through the maze of people and eventually found my brother lying on the kitchen table passed out because he was drunk. I took a deep breath and forced all my anger into my fists and then allowed myself to viciously attack him. I began punching him so hard I could feel my fists swelling up with each painful blown I directed towards him.
Jeremy awoke in a startled way that caused him to roll off the table. A few people at the party crowded their way into the kitchen, forming a circle around us. I walked around the table and began kicking and stomping on my older brother who was far too drunk to comprehend that I was his attacker. He curled over in a fetal position and instead of offering him mercy, due to his pitiful sight, it encouraged me to attack him with more intensity.
The people were cheering and filming with their cell phones, encouraging me to finish him off. If there was a such thing as compassion, it was not present in our house tonight. I kicked him his back and heard a loud crack, unsure if the sound was a result of some injury I had inflicted on him or caused as a result of me using my body has a weapon.
When my fists became swollen and my legs were tired I paused realizing my overall anger had somehow diminished. I then turned around leaving my brother sobbing on the floor and pushed my way through the crowd of people who suddenly appeared to be afraid of me. I felt no guilt for what I had done.
Jeremy should know the limits.
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