Of Children and Men

An essay inspired by the little brother.

I do not sleep well.

I could blame it on my crappy mattress or the fact that I go to bed far too late, but the real problem is one I'd rather not confront. I dream of car wrecks. Of murderers breaking in and slaughtering my family. Of falling from some great height and plunging to the ground, with the wind howling past my ears and the impact racing up to meet me...

I wake up a lot during the night, sweating and terrified. I'll leave my room to fetch a cup of milk from the kitchen, and it is then that I'll come across my brother, asleep in the recliner.

Seven years old and far too tall, he stretches limply across the arms of the chair like a sacrifice, his head hanging off and exposing his throat to the world. I can easily picture the knife sliding across his jugular, or two hands coming around him and crushing his esophagus until his young eyes dim out.

I do not sleep like this. When I sleep, I either curl into a ball, or sleep on my stomach, face down into my pillow and hidden beneath my comforter. While my little brother mumbles full sentences of nonsense in his sleep, I thrash and kick like a wounded beast, fighting my way through the constant warfare raging in my mind. My brother doesn't twitch once.

One morning, I asked him what he dreams of, and he told me it was death. Me too, I replied. It's always death, isn't it? I can't think of a single thing more feared among grown men. The majority of the adult race sulks in the shadows, keeping their eyes on the ground, lest they trip and bleed.

Children, however, will go out and seek that danger. They run in the sunlight, laughing and smiling and unafraid. We like to convince ourselves that their bravery comes solely from their innocence, and perhaps it does. But when I watch my brother sleep, I can't help but think that we are wrong.

While I assume my fetal position and wake up crying, Garrett unfolds himself, skinny pale neck sticking out in a primitive symbol of trust. Trust in others, trust in yourself, trust that everything will be alright. I may be vulnerable, the pulsing vein whispers, but you don't scare me.

That is how I want to sleep. That is how I wish we could all live.

Author's Note

This hasn't been edited much, it was kind of just a freewrite in my journal. Won a contest though... somehow.