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"SSC4: Pure Reprisal"

The wind cut through the surroundings with its knife-edge motion. “…Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”, the priest droned solemnly, as workmen began to pile hot, dusty earth over your coffin. Warm, salty tears welled up in my eyes, as I realised that you, the closest person to me, had gone forever. I just stood there looking blankly at your tombstone, which glowed vibrantly in the morning daylight.

What had brought you to death’s door was so far from the ordinary that being transported there would be an impossible task. I knew, and you knew, of the secret cheesecake, the same secret cheesecake, in a way, that will soon devour me in the same way that it already has for you. We had always been getting up to mischief, you and I, even when we were younger. If we had been any more inseparable we’d have been Siamese. You were always the brave ambitious one, and me; I was always the sensible and often secluded one.

I was so envious of you though; even if we were twins the genes certainly weren’t shared out equally. You seemed to have the aspiration, the confidence and the jaw dropping looks that any shallow young woman would fall for. The way that you were far more attractive than me, yet always modest and quick to prompt me about how looks didn’t matter, made me emotionally vomit. I was small, intellectual, rational and always described by you as being weedy. To put it simply, I felt like a gimp. I never was the favourite. I was born second, and from that moment on, always was second.

When we both hit seventeen, my undeniable resentment of for you, and everything about you, started to take on an alternative form. I began to slowly detest you, my own brother, detest you until the very sight of your blonde fringe and muscle-bound build drove me close to insanity. Forgiveness was out of the question. Memories of our past tormented me into instant action. Your sight, your sound, and your smell now provoked emotions that burrowed their way deeper and deeper into my very existence, with every day that passed.

I decided that I’d change how I looked. Tearing a shaver through my auburn curls felt like an escape from the constant rejection that was my life; that was reality. I hated my new found style, but how else could I stand out against this god's gift of a twin I had? Many times I pondered and dwelt on the notion of revisiting my days in which I studied hard and was the nerd of the family, but the truth always persuaded me otherwise, and that you were the root of my eternal dilemma. I needed to escalate my pitiful attention seeking even more so in an attempt to rebel against the injustice that was living. Living as me.

Turning twenty-three led to me turning to government handouts and crack dealing; whilst you lived it up in the city with your wife and two kids, sorry, I mean my teenage sweetheart and two kids. Nothing allowed me to escape my pitiful right to be alive than drugs now. At that very moment in my life, analysing and evaluating what had come between us was as insignificant as any other part of my life. There was no point even conjuring up reasons for hating you, it was just fact. Stone, hard fact.

The culmination of our two independent lives would now cross; I had decided where my fate lied. I was now so addicted to drugs that I was sure to die soon anyway, hence my decision to claw onto your wretched self, and drag you down not only with me, but before me. I don’t know what was with that crazed obsession, I guess that perhaps for once in my life I wanted to beat you at something, because to this day after much retracing and recollecting in hindsight I can’t recall a single time that I overcame you. Not once.

So what one topic did I know more about than perfect, old you? Drugs. What was the one thing you liked more than anything? Cheesecake, I remember because that is what our mother always made us, sorry, I mean you, on our birthday. So one beautifully crafted cheesecake was delivered to you on your birthday a little over a week ago, obviously, with a slight enhancement. I think the rest, as they say, is history. I don’t have any regrets about seeing you off, even though deep down I feel a remote watered-down sadness for you. Mainly stemming from the fact that I have left my childhood crush widowed, and having to cope with two children biting at her ankles. See, I’m not completely void of sentiment.

At times, I wonder if I have all the pieces to the jigsaw that was our saga of love and hatred. Did I miss something? Do I need to adjust my visions on life? Well to be honest, I don’t care, because at the rate that I now rely on those little syringes that you stick in your arm, I’ll be dead inside a week. I cannot reconcile with what has happened between us for much longer anyway.

So here is to us, two dead or dieing twins; one perfect in every way, one buried under crap since birth.

To us!

Mm, nice concept, but still think it could have been executed a lot more interestingly. Would have been a lot harder, but actually writing out incidents between the twins in the present tense would have been very interesting to read.

Nay problem, your tagline gave me a good laugh and all. :-D

I liked the concept, it was a good idea for the "secret cheescake" subject. Nice style of writing as well and some novel turns of phrase.

Sleepy and Straf offer good advice and cover any criticisms I can think of really.

Sorry I didn't get round to reading this sooner, been busy with revsion etc.

Yeah, I understand. Thanks for the advice.

I'd go someways to agreeing with Strafio. The fact that he was crying at the funeral and looked blankly at the tombstone, not gloatingly.

Plus:

> If we had been any more inseparable we’d have been Siamese.

did make it seem as though they were very close. The fact that he considered his twin had stole 'the love of his life' seems to have been the final straw but it could have been more pivotal to the story, instead of just a byline, to make it stronger.

Still, I also enjoyed this. It was well written and easy to read.

Thanks.

He didn't really give support, only once in the whole piece do I see I part in which he did. Had the unpopular twin also been able to control himself, he probably wouldn't have murdered his other half. The drugs end up controlling the fate of both of them in the end.

...




Interesting.

I find it hard to see how so much resentment built up considering how much support the popular twin was giving his brother.
Perhaps it would've made a bit more sense if he'd rubbed it in a bit.

But still good. :-)

The wind cut through the surroundings with its knife-edge motion. “…Ashes to ashes, dust to dust”, the priest droned solemnly, as workmen began to pile hot, dusty earth over your coffin. Warm, salty tears welled up in my eyes, as I realised that you, the closest person to me, had gone forever. I just stood there looking blankly at your tombstone, which glowed vibrantly in the morning daylight.

What had brought you to death’s door was so far from the ordinary that being transported there would be an impossible task. I knew, and you knew, of the secret cheesecake, the same secret cheesecake, in a way, that will soon devour me in the same way that it already has for you. We had always been getting up to mischief, you and I, even when we were younger. If we had been any more inseparable we’d have been Siamese. You were always the brave ambitious one, and me; I was always the sensible and often secluded one.

I was so envious of you though; even if we were twins the genes certainly weren’t shared out equally. You seemed to have the aspiration, the confidence and the jaw dropping looks that any shallow young woman would fall for. The way that you were far more attractive than me, yet always modest and quick to prompt me about how looks didn’t matter, made me emotionally vomit. I was small, intellectual, rational and always described by you as being weedy. To put it simply, I felt like a gimp. I never was the favourite. I was born second, and from that moment on, always was second.

When we both hit seventeen, my undeniable resentment of for you, and everything about you, started to take on an alternative form. I began to slowly detest you, my own brother, detest you until the very sight of your blonde fringe and muscle-bound build drove me close to insanity. Forgiveness was out of the question. Memories of our past tormented me into instant action. Your sight, your sound, and your smell now provoked emotions that burrowed their way deeper and deeper into my very existence, with every day that passed.

I decided that I’d change how I looked. Tearing a shaver through my auburn curls felt like an escape from the constant rejection that was my life; that was reality. I hated my new found style, but how else could I stand out against this god's gift of a twin I had? Many times I pondered and dwelt on the notion of revisiting my days in which I studied hard and was the nerd of the family, but the truth always persuaded me otherwise, and that you were the root of my eternal dilemma. I needed to escalate my pitiful attention seeking even more so in an attempt to rebel against the injustice that was living. Living as me.

Turning twenty-three led to me turning to government handouts and crack dealing; whilst you lived it up in the city with your wife and two kids, sorry, I mean my teenage sweetheart and two kids. Nothing allowed me to escape my pitiful right to be alive than drugs now. At that very moment in my life, analysing and evaluating what had come between us was as insignificant as any other part of my life. There was no point even conjuring up reasons for hating you, it was just fact. Stone, hard fact.

The culmination of our two independent lives would now cross; I had decided where my fate lied. I was now so addicted to drugs that I was sure to die soon anyway, hence my decision to claw onto your wretched self, and drag you down not only with me, but before me. I don’t know what was with that crazed obsession, I guess that perhaps for once in my life I wanted to beat you at something, because to this day after much retracing and recollecting in hindsight I can’t recall a single time that I overcame you. Not once.

So what one topic did I know more about than perfect, old you? Drugs. What was the one thing you liked more than anything? Cheesecake, I remember because that is what our mother always made us, sorry, I mean you, on our birthday. So one beautifully crafted cheesecake was delivered to you on your birthday a little over a week ago, obviously, with a slight enhancement. I think the rest, as they say, is history. I don’t have any regrets about seeing you off, even though deep down I feel a remote watered-down sadness for you. Mainly stemming from the fact that I have left my childhood crush widowed, and having to cope with two children biting at her ankles. See, I’m not completely void of sentiment.

At times, I wonder if I have all the pieces to the jigsaw that was our saga of love and hatred. Did I miss something? Do I need to adjust my visions on life? Well to be honest, I don’t care, because at the rate that I now rely on those little syringes that you stick in your arm, I’ll be dead inside a week. I cannot reconcile with what has happened between us for much longer anyway.

So here is to us, two dead or dieing twins; one perfect in every way, one buried under crap since birth.

To us!