Decameron: A Crack of Thunder [VII/4]
Mark was ready to kill his little brother. “I’m not going to tell you again — don’t touch my things or you're dead!” Mark’s threat carried across the porch where Matthew was playing with a recently acquired Kindle. “Quit being a little shit all the time and give it back,” Mark said as he violently ripped the Kindle out of Matthew’s hands, making the point clear.
Bouts of rage like this were not uncommon in their household. If the children had any neighbors, surely they would speculate that Mark was cruel to his little brother. But this was ‘God’s country,’ and as such, cruelty typically fell on deaf ears. Only their parents would ever hear their rows, and they might break it up if they weren’t busy arguing with themselves. They wouldn’t be back for hours anyway.
Tears were welling up in Matthew’s eyes, but his head was lowered to prevent his big brother from seeing that it got to him. Additional forms of cruelty would typically ensue. Matthew started taking his big brother’s toys because he wanted Mark to play with him more. And besides, he had better stuff. His RC cars went faster, his Legos supply vastly bigger. And even though Mom got them both Kindles for Christmas, Mark managed to figure out the pin, so his system was always unlocked.
Walking past his mother’s collection of garden gnomes, Mark felt it necessary to get one more jab in, “Touch my stuff again and I’ll kill you. I’d be doing everyone a favor if I did anyway.” This got Matthew’s attention, and Mark could see he was tearing up good now. For a moment Mark felt like he took it too far. But his brother had to learn, so he said nothing and headed back to his room.
Mark slammed the door to his room and tossed himself onto the bed, Kindle in hand. Why does he have to mess with my stuff anyway?That turd has his own things, but never plays with those. The back door slammed, but Mark couldn’t hear Matthew whining. This was new Mark wanted to see where it went.
Suddenly, Matthew shouted, “Why do you have to be such a jerk all the time?” Matthew was coming up the stairs to confront his big brother.
The little brat is getting bold.
Yelling back from the defendable space of his room, he shouted, “Maybe if you kept your hands off my shit, I wouldn't be a jerk.”
“I’m not stealing it if you're not using it. What’s the big deal anyway?” Matthew attempted to open the door to Mark’s room. “Open the door, Mark.”
“Why? So you can steal more of my stuff? Eat shit and die.”
“Open the door!”
Mark was getting bored. He threw his Kindle and stormed to the door and swung it open. Matthew was standing in front of him with tears drying on his face, but looking enraged. “Am I going to have to pound it into you? Stop touching my stuff. Stay out of my room. And eat shit and die.” Mark slammed the door as quickly as he had opened it. He took a moment to get his composure. The nerve of that kid. He walks around the house like he owns everything and everyone. At least he’ll keep his hands off my stuff now. I hate him. I just wish the little bastard would get lost.
A few moments later from outside came a crack like thunder. Mark immediately tensed up and his senses were on full alert. No. Not thunder. Thunder doesn’t end so abruptly. Someone else had to have heard that noise. Matthew should be saying something. “Matthew?” Mark cried out. “Matthew? What’s going on?”
Mark cautiously opened his door to find that his parent’s bedroom door was open. Mark thought, Dad keeps his guns under the bed. Mark peeked into the room. The gun safe, which wasn’t really a safe because it was always unlocked, was open.
Mark’s mind began racing faster than before as his feet picked up the pace to run down stairs to investigate. Stepping outside, he noticed Chippy, a rather large and peculiar shaped gnome (and mom’s favorite) had a quarter-sized hole through its head. On the ground near the gnome, Matthew was lying on the ground, motionless with Dad’s Beretta a few inches from his hand.
The sight of his brother was too much. Mark’s gaze began to unfocus. He heard himself shouting, “Matthew!” but could not be sure the words came out. The world became dark and Mark tumbled somewhere near his brother.
***
Mark woke to his mother screaming. “What on earth do you think you're doing? Mark! Get up and explain yourself.” Confused, Mark sat up. The gun was on the ground next to him. Chippy was still in a state.
Behind his mom was Matthew, tear-streaked, sweaty, and alive. His mother’s hand was gripped tight around Matthew’s upper arm as she shook him and yelled.
What did he say to her?
Mark looked at his little brother, confused. Matthew stared back at Mark, with what might have been the slightest hint of a smirk.
What the hell am I going to do with him?
Decameron is a newsletter recounting the 14th Century set of quarantine tales for 2020. Read the original story.
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