Know Your Place

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
It is pretty self explanatory.

Submitted: January 07, 2012

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Submitted: January 07, 2012

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I have done a lot of great things in my life; the best of which being when I killed my brother.

I was conceived during "angry sex" as my father put it. I am not sure if that is like rape or just some kinky thing my parents did; but considering they were separated before I got pushed out probably dismisses the latter. My very tact father told me this over a rainbow roll during a nice family dinner- the irony shows itself later on. I remember being highly disturbed at first, shortly followed by a diamond-like clarity. I made sense for the first time to myself. Angry sex to create a life can only lead to a messed up child and I was definitely messed up at the time-- well I say that like I am not now. In any case, I digress, I killed my brother and it was wonderful.

Perhaps I should start by telling you a bit about him, his name was Nate and at first he was a good brother. I assume that last statement is true because of the pictures I have seen of him hugging me as an infant. He looked innocent enough, sweet and loving towards his baby sister. However, by the time I was able to start remembering my life, he started making it hell-- maybe those pictures were a lie. I look back now and find it amazing that a six year old knew ways to hit another without leaving any marks. This talent made it hard to convince my mother of the stories I told her. She blamed my father, saying I heard his lies and storytelling too often therefore; I made things up about dear, sweet Nate. As I got older, the abuse matured. Baseball bats and golf clubs came into his world via my father wanting a sports- loving son. Nate wasn't very good at sports but he was great at using the equipment in other situations. Then came the Swiss Army knife. I never was cut but I came close and woke up several nights with a blade caressing my neck. Finally my father, being a constitutional man and southerner felt it was time for his kids to bear arms. We went to the gun range and learned the safety procedures, what not to do and what to never do. Now when a ten year old boy hears he should never do something, of course the appeal is too great and he must do it! So my brother got me to do what he wanted via a barrel in my mouth. His courtesy to me however, was that the safety was never off... what a sweet heart.

Now the jack ass is, well, was five years older than I am. So even with all these horrible things, I was still five and believed that everyone would do good by me eventually. He was still my older brother and I cringe at the truth that I looked up to him no matter what torture he doled out. Now one evening, we were at home, alone…it was a different time back then so parents were more trusting of the world. Anyway, we were watching some crime show and the reporter said that a woman was raped. I remember asking Nate what rape was and he said I wasn’t old enough to know. The reason I mention this is because he apparently thought I was old enough to experience the act, just not old enough to know the definition. It happened in the bathroom we shared. He told me to go take off my clothes; at this point I was seven and still young enough that being naked most of the day in my own house wasn’t embarrassing. I came back into the bathroom and he locked the door behind me. He told me to lie down and spread my legs in the air, it was “a game” he said. Well, the fun only lasted a minute but I knew then it wasn’t right. I told my mom, she yelled at my father over the phone five minutes later and that was that. Now, you are probably thinking “Well that bastard deserved to die!” or maybe you are thinking “You were both kids, it wasn’t his fault, it was probably a learned behavior.” Yeah well as for the first, I didn’t believe that for a long time and for the second, I wanted to believe that once I was old enough to learn what rape was. The rape was the first incident but not the last. Years of molestation and abuse followed and I blame myself for letting it get so far. I know, I shouldn’t blame myself but what the heck; he isn’t around to blame now is he!

So I didn’t kill him right away or even after the full realization of what had happened to me came to light. No, I gave him the benefit of the doubt, thought he was disturbed but he was still my brother and if I hated him, that may only hurt the rest of my family. During my teenage years and his late teens, he wasn’t around much, yet, when he was around—I was always being threatened or verbally abused. One afternoon, he decided to be mad at me about something, so I hid in the bathroom which ironically is my safe place now and forever. He proceeded to kick the door, but thankfully his legs were weak due to the drugs he consumed on a daily basis. At this moment though, he wasn’t high which may be why he was so aggressive. In any case, words were exchanged through the weakening wood and I finally yelled out “You fucking asshole! Wasn’t raping me enough?” to which he replied “No bitch, I am glad I did that! It put you in your place.” Now he deserved to die; an eighteen year old man telling his thirteen year old sister that she deserved to be raped by her own flesh and blood, yes—he deserved to die then. But he didn’t.

I have a little sister now. My mom met a guy, and soon after, left a guy keeping a few million little mementos just before the split. Well, I love that little girl. I raised her as my own when my mom got sick and passed during my sister’s sixth month of life. The fear lingered in my mind of what my so-called brother might do but I was with my sister constantly at first so I wasn’t too worried. The time came however, that I needed to bring her to daycare and then I used an at home system and hired a sitter while I went to school. My older brother needed to remain a resident of the house since he was legally an adult and I couldn’t keep my sister without one there. I asked aunts and uncles and other family members to take that role but none of them were willing to raise a bunch of kids and they all knew Nate was an ass. So I was stuck but I was naïve enough to think I could protect her with just myself and a sitter. One day the sitter had to leave early and Nate was home so he said she could. My sister was five at the time. I came home three hours later and Nate was gone, the sitter was gone and my sister was wandering the backyard alone, crying-- and naked.

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He woke up with me standing over him. We still had the guns our dad gave us and I remembered all my safety procedures. He stared up at me and I saw everything he had done replay in his head. His eyes looked satisfied even when I shot him in the crotch. I then put a pillow over his face a snuffed the life from him, he was too busy holding his bleeding genitals to fight me. Eventually his grip loosened and I removed the pillow after a few more reassuring minutes. I dragged him in the bed sheet to the back yard and buried him. The septic tank recently overflowed and the yard was freshly dug up anyway, so disturbed soil and a putrid smell was nothing new. The neighbors were having one of their many parties so no one heard the shot. My sister was in the hospital for a bad flu and they kept her overnight so she was not subjected to anymore trauma. My family chalked up his disappearance to his “asshole” ways and never cared enough to look. I got to move in with my aunt after that since the nuisance was out of the picture and we pretty much lived happily ever after. I just hope the people who moved in after we left take good care of that septic tank.

I am so glad that Nate and I both know his place.


© Copyright 2017 Senora Jane. All rights reserved.

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