Categories > Original > Drama
Perfection.
At five years old, my brother drew a picture. He drew a single rose, white like the colour of newly laid snow. Me, then aged seven years old, looked at the picture and smiled. I told him Mom would love it, and he smiled too, that little toothy smile, his little baby teeth gleaming in the setting sun. My brother got up, and walked to the kitchen, picture in hand, and said those six little words, with such innocence in his voice it could melt a heart.
"I drew you a picture, Mommy."
I watched as Mom took the picture from his tiny little hands, and looked at it for a mere second, before screwing it up and throwing it in the bin. The look on his face could have shattered glass, he was so heartbroken, as Mom said those two words with such unkindness.
"It's horrible."
---
Years passed, my brother is ten years old. He was on the school soccer team, just about to play a tournament. He trained hard, and he got better at soccer. I watched on as he dribbled the ball with presision, and smiled. I knew in my heart that he'd win, and when the faithful day came, he did win, well, the team did. But, he got a trophy for best striker, and his face broke out into a wide smile, and he held the trophy up high as he spotted Mom in the crowd, cigarette perched between two fingers. He ran over to us and said so happily:
"Mom, look! I'm best striker!"
The words Mom said after brought such anger onto me.
"No, Jayson. You're not."
---
My brother got worse, mentally, and physically. His weight dropped, he got so ill. Doctors said he would die soon, he was so ill. One night, I noticed he had scars on his arms, and I asked him why. He said, so normally.
"Because I have to."
I asked again, why? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you know what he said?
"Because I'm not perfect. Like I try to be, Mom never sees it."
Those words brought a tear to my eye. All his life, my brother just wanted recognition from the woman that gave us life, yet he got nothing. Nothing but hate. I took a breath, about to speak, but he said so silently.
"This is not what it is, only baby scars."
I knew they were baby scars, but they had grown.
---
Now, I stand by his grave. In my hand, was the picture he drew, the one that was discarded. He was so young, sixteen years old. All he wanted, was to be perfect, in Mom's eyes. Yet he never saw it. I knelt down by the tombstone that beared his name, in ivory lettering, and sobbed the final words, I cried out the thing he never knew.
"You were already perfect."
I got inspiration from Second and Sebring by Of Mice & Men, and used the first name of one of my new OCs, Jayson. He was a sim I made on the sims 3, by the way. Rate and Review, maybe? xo Sadie
At five years old, my brother drew a picture. He drew a single rose, white like the colour of newly laid snow. Me, then aged seven years old, looked at the picture and smiled. I told him Mom would love it, and he smiled too, that little toothy smile, his little baby teeth gleaming in the setting sun. My brother got up, and walked to the kitchen, picture in hand, and said those six little words, with such innocence in his voice it could melt a heart.
"I drew you a picture, Mommy."
I watched as Mom took the picture from his tiny little hands, and looked at it for a mere second, before screwing it up and throwing it in the bin. The look on his face could have shattered glass, he was so heartbroken, as Mom said those two words with such unkindness.
"It's horrible."
---
Years passed, my brother is ten years old. He was on the school soccer team, just about to play a tournament. He trained hard, and he got better at soccer. I watched on as he dribbled the ball with presision, and smiled. I knew in my heart that he'd win, and when the faithful day came, he did win, well, the team did. But, he got a trophy for best striker, and his face broke out into a wide smile, and he held the trophy up high as he spotted Mom in the crowd, cigarette perched between two fingers. He ran over to us and said so happily:
"Mom, look! I'm best striker!"
The words Mom said after brought such anger onto me.
"No, Jayson. You're not."
---
My brother got worse, mentally, and physically. His weight dropped, he got so ill. Doctors said he would die soon, he was so ill. One night, I noticed he had scars on his arms, and I asked him why. He said, so normally.
"Because I have to."
I asked again, why? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you know what he said?
"Because I'm not perfect. Like I try to be, Mom never sees it."
Those words brought a tear to my eye. All his life, my brother just wanted recognition from the woman that gave us life, yet he got nothing. Nothing but hate. I took a breath, about to speak, but he said so silently.
"This is not what it is, only baby scars."
I knew they were baby scars, but they had grown.
---
Now, I stand by his grave. In my hand, was the picture he drew, the one that was discarded. He was so young, sixteen years old. All he wanted, was to be perfect, in Mom's eyes. Yet he never saw it. I knelt down by the tombstone that beared his name, in ivory lettering, and sobbed the final words, I cried out the thing he never knew.
"You were already perfect."
I got inspiration from Second and Sebring by Of Mice & Men, and used the first name of one of my new OCs, Jayson. He was a sim I made on the sims 3, by the way. Rate and Review, maybe? xo Sadie
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