Short Story: Baby Brother


‘You’ll tell mum?’ Samir asked crestfallen.

When he was 8, he broke the tele. He looked at me distraught and asked me the same thing.

Now, I can’t even look at him anymore. He has lost weight. My eyes trying to find my brother in the shell he has wasted into. I wondered why did he relapsed this time.

I looked out of the car window, the day was beautiful. The type of day I would be spending soaking the sun on a beach somewhere. But I was outside a rehab.

“I should tell her, she has been texting me since last night.” I finally mumbled. I should have been angry, but all I felt was tiredness.

When I saw him two years ago, we fought. He stormed off into the night but eventually he settled into our mum’s garage. From the corner of my eye, I could see him nodding his head. He was high.

“You sure I need to go there? I would be okay, I won’t take anymore.” he uttered sullenly as he gazed upon the doors which would be his home for the next couple of months.

“You know you do. They can help you, I…” I choked up.

He got out of the car for what seemed like eternity, the silence hanging between us like a carcass. I watched him talk to the receptionist.

I sat in my car, hoping he wouldn’t come running out. I hoped this would be our last visit.

I receive another text.

‘Have you found him?’. Mum.

I never told mum how the tele broke.

‘He’s fine. He would be living with me for a while.’


I wrote this for Brilliant Flash Fiction’s Concealment prompt last year. It didn’t make the cut but after listening to ‘This American Life’s’ episode on Dopey I revisited it. I tried to modify to what the episode was about, how I felt while listening it.

Inside My Head


Fiction:

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There were three brothers once:
Let’s call them Good, Bad and Third.

Good wanted everything to be perfect. He wanted to be the person who takes care of others, who is the perfect son, the perfect Friend.

He could not see others in misery, their pain weakened his knees. He couldn’t imagine a world with sorrow and suffering. All he ever wanted to was to bring smile to everyone’s face.

And he had to fight to do that, and what was worse: He had to fight his brother Bad.

Bad hated the world. He wanted to inflict pain on others. Make fun of them. Bully them. And every blow given to Good only made Bad more heinous. He just wanted to make the world burn.

He hated God, for he hated himself too. He hated his brothers but he hated someone else hurting them more. Whimsical and tyrannical, he sought to make sure that when he gained control of world, he would remember everyone who brought him to his knees would suffer.

And so fought the two brothers. Again and again. Good crying over fighting his brother, Bad laughing in self hatred.

But where was the Third?

Third sat on the throne. His cavalier manner, indulgence and negligence exacerbated everything. After all, Third decoded to sit on the throne only till either of the two brothers become victorious just so he could be on his way.

This is how it has always been: Good and Bad fighting through all eternity, while Third sat idle. And under his, world rejoiced in freedoms, and under his world burned.

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