My brother and I, are antipodes; like the flip sides of a coin, only joined at the hip, like Siamese twins.
We grew up in a small town together, graduated university the same year, and now work at the same local company. But he is an absolute charmer, the kinds, who mostly lies to make people feel better. He is an enticer of beauty, the Wordsmith, and at least five times better looking than me. People—especially girls—like him instantly; he of course has that magnetic personality and knows how to best use it.
I,on the other hand, am docile, feeble and unsure; perhaps someone, who needs help. I barely manage my chores or run my errands like a man I am supposed to be. It’s not a surprise, that I am often ridiculed by him for my mediocrity. All my life, I have tried to match him, and maybe that’s why I have always been secondary. If you were to compare both of us on the same scale, you’d probably need different scales to compare us.
I however, keep all his dark secrets. Mostly, because I never have a choice. Like, let me tell you, about this one time, both of us had gone for a trekking trip with our mutual friend. My brother secretly hated him. But I knew it, because he had told me so. He never hides anything from me.
That day, our friend—who, I did not know, also shared, a sort of latent hatred towards my brother—said things, that he shouldn’t have. You know, things about his past, or relationships or abilities. I was right there, and although, there were moments, when I too, took his words personally, I did not get carried away. I ignored him, like anyone should. After all, his opinions shouldn’t define my brother or me, and no one’s perfect in this world anyway.
But my brother lost his temper. He usually does, but that day can’t really be compared to any other. He stabbed our friend several times in his gut amidst the woods. And god knows, I had tried. I had tried to stop and calm him, tried to put sense in to him, and also tried to warn him about the consequences, much before he was contemplating all of it. But I guess, he overpowered me and I gave it in, just like any other time.
Later, I helped him throw the dead body in the pond nearby. That day, the first time ever, I sat by the stagnant pond aghast, and I saw it. I saw his evil face float on endless ripples of water. He showed no signs of remorse or guilt, like a comfortable devil, proud of his actions.
To think of it, that wasn’t the only time I loathed him for his monstrous nature. I have often distasted him for his endless rants about how and why, he is tempted to kill so many people who have wronged him and vandalize things, that aren’t his and can never be. He has a knack for ruining moments and lives too. Sometimes, he threatens to kill me, for he doesn’t trust me at all and I must admit, that it scares me.
I have tried my best to not see his face ever again, but somehow, he wouldn’t leave a chance to show it, whenever he can, as if, he wants to make a point, but can’t. He follows me, like a shadow wherever I am and I hate it. I hate it, when I walk in to public washrooms and he tags along or shoves his face in the front camera of my phone. He would not even let me drink a glass of water in peace, and invariably startle me by his presence for no reason.
I don’t want him to justify his actions to me, instead, I want him to leave, and leave forever, but he wouldn’t. He can never leave me. We indeed are inseparable and I am used to him.
Even now, as I write this down, I see him lurking behind the dark but shiny metallic rims and edges of this laptop. In fact, I just smiled at him out of fear, and he smiled back at me—my wicked twin, with his wicked grin.