Walter Wall-Brotherly Love

"Take two and call me in the morning" I said with sadistic glee as the cold steel tore his skin. He always thought he was the witty one, but I had literally had the last laugh. I broke my diet guidelines as I licked the salt from my brother’s blood off my lips. He'd got what he deserved, but now my dry wit warranted a trip to the dry cleaners. I removed the receipt from the bag I picked up on my last trip there and put my next of kin in its place.

I tossed him in the dumpster outside his studio apartment. I had an inkling that its rent just decreased. Just then, my Mother’s words jutted into my cranium like a wayward frisbee, "I swear you boys are going to kill each other one day"; my mother was an intelligent woman. She'd seen the way he'd treated me, and now I'd proven that younger brothers do live longer. I wasn't one to hold a grudge; I'd just as well hit you over the head with it. Mom'd tell me as a kid that violence wasn't the answer, and she was right. No one questions you when you’re violent.

Dad left us right after I left the delivery room. I'd gotten a slap in the face right after the slap on my ass. If I saw him on the street today, I wouldn't hesitate to put him through half the pain he put me through. I'd return the full favor, but It'd land me on death row. You can't get a fair shake in this city, and the rising prices at dairy queen have nothing to do with it. Even though I'd get a large cherry right now If I wouldn't of had to take out a second mortgage to do it. Damn, I almost forgot, fucking Atkins, who’d of known that ice-cream wasn’t on the approved list, it’s all dairy, isn’t it?

My attention span was as short as my temper, Id gotten it from him. He’d beaten my mom while I was inside her and we both absorbed his daily “lovetaps”. My brother witnessed this and had no option but to emulate. Monkey saw, monkey did. I’d of rather it was my father’s body being hauled off to the landfill, but we all deal with the hand we’re dealt. Mine still has blood on it.

I scrub hard. My hands go back and forth at the speed of a Parkinson’s sufferer. Skin cells say there last words as my complexion turns a pale orange. If anyone asks, Ill say I’ve been eating too many carrots. Suddenly, the palm of my hand came to a slow drag across the forehead and I shut my eyes tightly. What had I done? I’d murdered my own brother, but they weren’t his eyes I looked into as I emptied that tortured chamber. It was the eyes I felt the hatred from before I could even see them. Those eyes burned through my mother and through me, but now I’m through. I toweled off my hands and watched the cherry red blood dry in the sink. He’d kicked the bucket and left me to clean it up. I strolled into the living room and took a moment to appreciate the irony; being an only child wasn’t so bad after all.

This was a great read with a sadistic and hilarious writing style that is very uncommon (and dope) in the short stories forum. Keep up the good work Walter!
-Maven