Charlie

a little girl in london misses her brother(my first and favorite writing)

I hate it when my brother Charlie goes away...

I’m often told how lucky I am; having a brain were all the chemicals flow properly to their destinations, almost like un-dammed rivers.  I tell my parents how bored I am and they only try to make me feel bad. They tell me his boredom likely far surpasses mine, after all… I’m not the one confined to a dark room in a mental institution.  I always start to cry when they scream red-faced at me, telling me how selfish I am.

“Always moaning about being lonely!", They'll yell. "what about him?”, my mother in tears with some also welling in my father’s eyes. They say how lucky I am compared to him; softer than their previous tone, “ you get to come home and play with friends, you get to go to school, you get to play and draw and do whatever you wish, but Charlie? of course not, he gets to be experimented on and tested day after miserable day.”

I don’t believe I deserve such treatment, I’m just a little girl; I'm so tired of walking the streets of London alone.  For god’s sakes I miss him too!

We often get worried about him.  It seems every other day we find ourselves calling the hospital asking about his progress. The doctors always say they aren’t sure if they will ever make any.  He seems to be a good actor, we’ve gotten reports of him convincing the nurses he is normal, almost charming them. Often they are fooled into thinking he is ready for rehabilitation. Indeed he has been home before.

I mean… of course he has been home before, this has been happening since we were toddlers, after 6 years? He has to have been home a few times.  Each time though, upon me begging for several weeks.  Each visit though, is shorter in duration than the last.  Each time he returns,it all starts again.  When my parents wake in dawn, they investigate faint moans in our room.  This takes great effort since a dark purple looking substance has glued the lid and to the box-which was the source of the noise- together, tightly closing the box.  They finally get the box open only to find the entirety of Charlie’s toy box filled with dead or dying cats bleeding out and gouged out eyes in most of them.  The horrific sight included bloody toys jammed into various parts of the cats.  

The most recent visit was possibly the most dangerous.  After hours of searching, father finds his missing razors in the baby slide , lying in the park across the street. Even our dear step-mother isn’t safe; carefully filed and shaped dishwasher tablet replace her vitamins. now my parents use “last chances” quite sparingly, they say if being bored means being safe from him then so be it. If only they knew….

I always end up saying the same thing as i lay in bed, alone and restless. “please come back Charlie...I hate it when you go away... it means I have to be good until you return….

Author's Note

ignore mistakes, im constantly editing all my stories