Stimulus: “Then, although it was still at the end of the story, I put it at the beginning
of the novel, as if I needed to tell the end first in order to go on and tell the rest.”
I killed my brother, and I got away with it.
Not intentionally, but…not not intentionally. Let me explain.
Everything started with my parents. They bought an expensive-looking cabin as our little
family holiday getaway, structured on a grassy plane that stretched on for miles. It was
secluded from civilisation, the closest town being more than 15 miles away. ‘Peaceful’ they
said. More like torture.
Not too far from the cabin was a cliff’s edge, providing a canvas of blues and greens and
whites. The sun shattered and splintered into a million tiny diamonds across the sea,
blinding as it was beautiful. My parents told my brother and I to stay away from the cliff’s
edge at all times.
I wish we had listened.
One particularly balmy night in the cabin, someone had shaken me awake by the shoulders.
The little rascal was 12, two years younger than me and already quite the explorer. He
wanted to go on an adventure that night, and I didn’t stop him from pulling me out of bed.
I should have.
Our parents were still asleep, with dad’s steady snores covering the noises made as we left
the cabin.
If only they’d woken up.
We started walking through the night, both of us still in our pjs with no shoes on. I
remember the full moon shined down on us, illuminating the fateful path towards the cliff’s
edge.
“Race you to it!” he cried, running down the moonlit path. I dashed after him, the feeling of
grass cushioned beneath my soles, the night wind whipping my hair back, the joy that
bubbled up within me.
We both stopped a few feet from the cliff’s edge, panting and grinning ridiculously.
“I won” he declared between gasps, already plonked down on the cool blanket of grass. I
joined him, as both of us admired the pulsing orb above, surrounded by its own sea of
twinkling beauty.
A rustle behind us.
I snapped my neck towards the noise, and locked eyes with an enormous owl. His round,
unblinking eyes watching us, hooting softly between the trees.
“Just an owl” I said, turning back to my brother who had turned his head too.
“Let’s go touch it!” he replied, excited while scrambling up to disturb its peace.
“Don’t you dare” I warned, yanking him back as I lifted myself off the ground.
“Hey!” he whined, resisting against my grip, “Don’t pull me.”
I tugged him harder. “Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it? I’m older than you.” I
taunted, as he shoved me backwards. Both of us bickered, pushing each other back and
forth while we unknowingly inched closer and closer to the edge.
Soon enough, we were mere inches from the cliff drop, yelling at each other until I pushed
him back one last time.
He lost his footing.
Before he stumbled off the edge, he clasped onto my wrist, my torso then smashed into the
dirt as he clung for dear life.
“Don’t let me fall!” he shrieked, while the stony surface of the cliffside dug into my
forearms. His weight started pulling me down, my body shifting painfully slow along the
edge, as I tried to ease my lungs from the prickling pain of impact. My wrist burned from his
death grip, feeling as though it had popped out of its socket.
His hands started to sweat, his fingers ever so slightly sliding down my wrist.
“Don’t let go!” I wheezed, desperately trying to pull him up, but it was useless. I barely held
my own body to the ground, while his hands started slipping down further and further-
He fell.
My eyes stayed on his, both of ours wide eyed and terrified. Time slowed as distance
stretched between us.
I’d never looked directly below the cliff’s edge, but as he fell, arms outstretched, I couldn’t
look away.
A guttural scream tore from my throat, as I watched my little brother thud onto a flat rock,
his eyes still wide open, as a stream of dark liquid escaped the back of his head.
The waves crashed onto the rocks at the base of the cliff, washing over his body, over and
over and over.
His eyes continued to bore into mine.
Eventually a much larger wave smashed into his body, dragging him into the swirling depths
of the sea.
I stayed paralysed on the edge, unmoving as my eyes drilled a hole into the invisible stain of
blood the waves had long washed away.
I finally looked up, streaks of white painting the sky through my tear-rimmed eyes. There
was nothing for me to do. I killed my own brother.
I hauled myself from the ground, battered and guilt-ridden. On my way to the cabin, I fixed
my hair, dusted off the dirt from my cupcake pyjamas as best as I could, making my
appearance as normal as possible. Without a sound, I sneaked back into my room, my
parents still asleep. I wiped my feet and hands off on a dirty cloth, discarded it and slipped
under my sheets.
I might have killed my brother accidentally, but I wasn’t ready to face that truth.
A little twittering sound came from my window, slightly ajar, and I saw the owl, staring
down on me with those unblinking eyes. After a few beats, he spread his wings and
swooped off into the night, those eyes never leaving my mind.
****
The next day, my parents stormed into my room, asking if I’d seen him. I shook my head, my
throat tightening from the memory of what happened the night before. They said he wasn’t
in the cabin.
We all went searching. Soon enough the police were called, helping with the search.
I made my way to the cliff once more, carefully looking down, scared to see if the waves
brought him back. They didn’t. There was no body, only a dark stain on a big flat rock that
was covered with the constant waves pulling back and forth.
No one found him that day. Or the next. They declared him a missing person that week. I
didn’t correct them then.
And I never did since.