Categories > Original > Drama1 Reviews
Picking up the framed photo on my beside table I gazed at the picture behind the dusty glass. Glass for protecting nothing more then memories.
It was a picture of my brother Alex and myself, taken last April...before he'd left.
Last year we were almost a proper family, something I often dreamt about now a days.
There was Mum, Alex and Me, India, I'm 12 and Alex was 21.
I remember the day the picture was taken just like it was yesterday.
An afternoon in the Easter holidays. I remember it was cold and grey.
There was a crack in my bedroom window that day.
And the birds were making more noise then usual.
I'm not going to say the birds sung, because Alex has always said that wasn't true.
I was bored, so decided to go and see if Alex wanted to do something.
Hoping he wasn't in a bad mood. I could never tell what mood Alex would be in. When he was in a good mood, he'd be the best brother ever.
Bad mood however, and things changed.
He'd turn from being kind and gentle, into screaming at me for nothing, or just ignoring me completely. The latter was always the worse.
But today Alex was in a good mood, and we were both bored. So we went into the forest with some spare bed sheets and rope and made a den, we made it all comfy inside with moss, twigs, and anything else we could find.
You see at this point we lived on a farm with no tv, computer ect. So when we were bored, things such as theese were are only entertainment.
Alex had the best imagination ever, he'd always invent some sort of story for me.
I remember we pretended we had run away from our home and now we were hiding from the evil wart hogs who wanted to make us into human kebabs. It sounds strange, but Alex made it seem so real, even though I was 13 I almost believed him.
I think it came from the fact we read almost the whole of the village library when we were younger.
We sat in that tent for hours, telling each other stories. Until we got hungry and it started to go dark, then we walked home.
Mum went mad about the sheets, but then Alex offered to make dinner for us so she calmed down. He made us a vegetarian quorn and cabbage stew, and said it would taste nice.
I guess it was edible even if it wasn't the most appetizing looking meal.
I write like he's dead now a days. Don't worry he's not, but he might as well be.
He used to have really cool long hair. Until he went and cut it all off, now he just looks like a chicken. His eyes were so blue, like the swimming pools you see on holiday adverts. But now they're just permanently bloodshot.
Loads of my girls used to fancy my brother.
That annoyed me.
He's a right cheesy chat up line sort of guy.
But I loved him, I still do I guess.
Anyway, it was June the second. I remember this because it was the day after my brothers birthday.
I was sat at the table in the kitchen doing a crossword, and Mum was washing up when he came into the room and broke the news to us.
He had got himself a very important job as some kind of billionaire business man's assistant or something, I wasn't really listening. It didn't sound fascinating, but Alex seemed exited enough.
But then he told us it was in London.
Now London is a long way away from a remote country farm in the hills of Scotland. He might as well of gone to Australia, or Mars.
I was going to miss him, but he said he's come back every few weeks to see me and Mum, and after all he was 21.
And I believed my brother.
I trusted him.
After all, when I say we never argued, we never did.
He helped me with everything, homework, chess ect. He used to pick me up from school and make me dinner. And if ever anyone picked on me at school, I would mope into his room and moan and cry to him about it for hours.
Thinking back on it now, I guess he was like the Dad I'd never had.
After he started his new job, he did come home sometimes.
But he was different, always stressed, and he was always on the computer or doing stuff do boring looking piles of paperwork.
No more time for me.
Mum told me I needed to stop expecting him to be there when I wanted, and needed to let him get on with his life. I suppose she was right.
By the time October came around, everything had changed.
Suddenly Alex got himself a flat in London, a girlfriend, it wasn't right. Now he had money, he went out to buy himself £500 suits and high tech ipods every week. He sometimes sent me and Mum expensive presents, C.D's, jewellery, laptops!
But he wasn't there.
To make things worse I'd had a massive argument with my best friend at school, so now I had nobody.
He did have msn though, some days we talked. It was usually me moaning on about stuff, him cheering me up. The usual.
I always loved writing stories. So I wrote one about him being sent of to London and having to leave his little sister to go and train as a secrete undercover MI5 agent.
One time for our English homework, we had to write a diary entry about a family meal. Well I wasn't going to write about Mum's and mines micro waved potato bake meal ate in strained conversation. So I wrote a 3 page greatly detailed story about Alex and me on a magical picnic where we got attacked by evil unicorns with goblins as their slaves who were trying to kidnap us to turn into mushrooms.
My teacher read it out to the class.
I wanted to cry.
I may be a 13 now, but some days I just want to go back to being 5.
I missed him.
If I was upset, he'd talk to me online, but it wasn't the same.
He never even invited me to London or anything.
Soon I accepted the fact he probably didn't care anymore.
He'd bought a pet cat to match his pet flat though.
It was just a cat, but it annoyed me, as if he was replacing me with a cat!
I thought a lot about jumping on a train and running away to find him. But I doubt If he would even let me in.
One day he gave me an idea for a story we had to write for English.
I got an A* for that.
He was often drunk though, and rambled on about nonscence.
And he seemed to have a different girl every night.
Now it's April and I haven't hear from Alex for month.
The last time we spoke I told him I didn't even know why I even talked to him anymore. So then he said no one was forcing me to talk, and told me to stop talking to him then.
Now he won't reply to my emails.
He's cut himself off.
And I don't know why I'm so upset, he's hurt me a lot and it's not like he even wants to be part of our family anymore. He seems to have forgotten about us completely.
We grew up on the farm together; we were always together every day. He'd never left me for more then a week in my life. It might sound stupid if I say he might as well of died. Because it does feel like he's died.
I thought he actually cared about me, he used to protect me.
I guess not.
I smashed that picture on the floor and punched the wall.
It shattered, and my knuckles bled.
Then I felt bad.
Maybe one day he might read this.
And realise how I wish life was the way it was before.
I guess I'll get used to it soon.