Bloody Screaming Murder

Neither my dad, my mom nor any one of my brothers had even the least bit of sympathy for the unimaginable indignities I suffered at the hands of my younger brother, James. I reported to them every horrible, hate-able offense he’d commit and never once did they give him the thrashing he so desperately deserved. And if I did what had to be done and doled out justice they’d change their separatist stance instantly and come to his aid.

One night James and I were really going at it, as we were most nights. He’d managed to exhaust my considerable supply of patience, so I whacked him a good one sending him howling to our older brother Edward. Edward was officially in charge as he was the oldest person home at the time and I pleaded my case to him passionately. I’d have been offended if he hadn’t seen my side but I was absolutely livid that he wouldn’t even listen to me. He socked me hard on the arm and headed back to the living room where he was probably watching Benny Hill (strictly forbidden when mom was home).

It was more than I could bear. The feeling of absolute powerlessness was too much. I had to, just once show him that I could not be treated so unfairly. I grabbed a backpack full of books and I headed down the hallway after him. I swung the bag in a wide arc over my head bringing it down hard on his. The instant I heard the repulsive sound of the heavy pack connecting with my brother’s skull I knew that if he wasn’t dead I would be.

Edward went down, and I was unable to run. I knew I’d overdone it and I was worried that I had indeed killed him. I was also scared shitless and so I crept with a trepidation that I could feel in my bones. I was wound tight as a mouse trap ready to shoot off in the other direction should Edward show any sign of life. But instead, I froze, as Edward turned and rose to his feet, rage showing in his face. I didn’t manage to duck or event to raise my hands as Edward pulled back his fist. He let me have it, full force, right smack in the nose. He was quite a bit bigger than me and the blow sent me flying backwards. I landed next to the bathroom door which I crawled though and locked. I looked in the bathroom mirror and saw that I was bleeding fairly heavily. Even through my hysterics I knew I had to win this one, some how.

I let the blood seep into my shirt. I bled onto my hands which I then smeared across the window. I bled on the counter tops. I bled on the linoleum, on the rugs, all over the toilet. When the blood flow would slow I give my nose a pull and keep it going. Until finally, the bathroom was a ghastly, bloody , mess. I squeezed between the toilet and the bathtub and, spent, I fell asleep. I woke up several times when Edward knocked, and when I heard him picking the lock I grabbed it on my end and hung on for dear life. He finally gave up. I was aware of my mother knocking a good hour later but I pretended to be asleep or worse. I was well aware of the affect I was after. As my poor mother got the door open and entered the bathroom of horrors, she flew into a panic. My mother, who never got played fell hook line and sinker, and Edward who already felt guilty about having hit me in the face, with no restraint took her torrent of scolding without answering back. He was grounded. James felt guilty for his role and I was pittied and pampered. For once, covered in blood and with a swollen nose and two black eyes, I had won.