MY TWIN BROTHER_A short story written by Mbagwu Amarachi Chilaka.
I lie in my bed, away from earth, walking the streets of the world beyond when my brother's screams penetrated into my world and brought me back into the earth. Screams! Blood curdling screams!
It has continued since the month before, the month in which I mistakenly broke the enlarged picture we both took as kids that was placed atop our black and white television, while I was dusting the TV. I knee he was crying for someone. I knew he was crying for me, maybe for the picture. Countless times, I had tried to get him to stop screaming but all my efforts proved futile.
Like I hadn't even pit a pinch of effort. Seven nights before, I had bought him flowers like his girlfriend, Naomi used to buy him. Flowers with scents as the strawberry scented perfumes he used to wear, hoping the scents would calm him. The night before, I had also gone to buy him half a dozen of the apple fruit like Naomi used to buy him.
My brother loved apples and wouldn't go a day without eating them. I poured the apple on the bed where he lay, hoping they would calm his screams, but yet, he wouldn't stop penetrating the world beyond where we all travel to as we lay down to rest, our eyes closed and souls, gone. . Today after work, I branched at Naomi's place to beg her to talk to my brother in any way she could.
She accepted, with tears streaming down her cheeks. I took her into my arms. I left for home with the excitement that I was going to sleep without hearing him scream anymore. But no! He worsened.
The cries in his voice today was louder and as scarier as never before. His voice trembled as though he had we thick blood slowly going down his throat as he said some words I couldn't hear at first but later, after some minutes passed, I was able to hear the words were,
"Rita. Nana!"
My names. . I ran out of my room instantly to his bed, banging the door as hard as I could.
I knelt and then lay on top of him. It was late, and dark, and I couldn't see his face. I hit on his bed, on him trying to make him to stop screaming my names as my tears poured, on his bed, on him. His screams and cries were beginning to die down when my parents and my little brothers rushed out of their rooms.
"Stop lying on your brother's bed, Nana. Go back into your room and sleeps. He's fast asleep and can't hear your cries." Mother pleaded.
But mother, don't you hear his screams, his cries? Don't anyone else but me hears them? Could he have something to tell me but couldn't? The picture? I couldn't place my finger on anything. I got up from the ground where I had knelt, lay, over his grave. I am dirty.
He rests in a world distant from the earth, in a coffin, six feet below.... He still screams.
It has continued since the month before, the month in which I mistakenly broke the enlarged picture we both took as kids that was placed atop our black and white television, while I was dusting the TV. I knee he was crying for someone. I knew he was crying for me, maybe for the picture. Countless times, I had tried to get him to stop screaming but all my efforts proved futile.
Like I hadn't even pit a pinch of effort. Seven nights before, I had bought him flowers like his girlfriend, Naomi used to buy him. Flowers with scents as the strawberry scented perfumes he used to wear, hoping the scents would calm him. The night before, I had also gone to buy him half a dozen of the apple fruit like Naomi used to buy him.
My brother loved apples and wouldn't go a day without eating them. I poured the apple on the bed where he lay, hoping they would calm his screams, but yet, he wouldn't stop penetrating the world beyond where we all travel to as we lay down to rest, our eyes closed and souls, gone. . Today after work, I branched at Naomi's place to beg her to talk to my brother in any way she could.
She accepted, with tears streaming down her cheeks. I took her into my arms. I left for home with the excitement that I was going to sleep without hearing him scream anymore. But no! He worsened.
The cries in his voice today was louder and as scarier as never before. His voice trembled as though he had we thick blood slowly going down his throat as he said some words I couldn't hear at first but later, after some minutes passed, I was able to hear the words were,
"Rita. Nana!"
My names. . I ran out of my room instantly to his bed, banging the door as hard as I could.
I knelt and then lay on top of him. It was late, and dark, and I couldn't see his face. I hit on his bed, on him trying to make him to stop screaming my names as my tears poured, on his bed, on him. His screams and cries were beginning to die down when my parents and my little brothers rushed out of their rooms.
"Stop lying on your brother's bed, Nana. Go back into your room and sleeps. He's fast asleep and can't hear your cries." Mother pleaded.
But mother, don't you hear his screams, his cries? Don't anyone else but me hears them? Could he have something to tell me but couldn't? The picture? I couldn't place my finger on anything. I got up from the ground where I had knelt, lay, over his grave. I am dirty.
He rests in a world distant from the earth, in a coffin, six feet below.... He still screams.
