I Saved My Brother, But He Killed Me Softly Chapter 10

I Saved My Brother, But He Killed Me Softly Chapter 10

Time crawled by at an agonizingly slow pace.

Ten years passed, then twenty.

I hadn’t actually gone very far. My spirit lingered in the empty spaces, floating silently in midair, watching Ethan with cold, unblinking detachment.

I watched his hair turn from a salt-and-pepper shock into a stark, brittle white. I watched his spine curve, bending lower and lower toward the earth under an invisible weight.

I watched the ruthless, razor-sharp blades of time carve deep valleys into his face, sculpting him into a hollowed-out, withered old man.

Then came New Year’s Eve.

Outside, fireworks erupted across the sky with thunderous cracks, and a sea of brilliant lights illuminated the windows of countless families celebrating in festive warmth.

Inside Ethan’s cramped, dilapidated rental, however, only a single, dim bulb cast a sickly yellow glow over the quiet room.

On the dining table, two sets of placemats and silverware were neatly arranged.

On his side sat a single bowl of cheap, instant ramen; placed directly opposite him was a bowl of slow-cooked beef stew—my favorite meal when I was alive.

He sat hunched at the table, his calloused thumbs slowly tracing the contours of the braille slate I had left behind. Over the decades, his relentless, day-and-night handling had rubbed the sharp, raised dots completely smooth, erasing the text entirely.

“Sienna, Happy New Year,” he whispered.

He raised his glass, gently tapping it against the empty air across from him.

“The regional disability foundation awarded Ethan a commendation today. They told me… they told me I’m a good man.”

He let out a miserable, self-deprecating chuckle, swallowing down the cheap, harsh liquor along with the tears streaming into his mouth.

“Am I a good man? I couldn’t even protect my own sister. What kind of a good man does that make me?”

Suddenly, a violent, hacking cough racked his narrow chest. He clamped his hand over his mouth, but dark, heavy streams of crimson blood quickly spilled through the cracks of his fingers.

Over these long years, he had worked himself to the bone like an untiring, mindless machine, donating every single cent he earned to the disability foundation.

Yet, when sickness took hold of his own body, he couldn’t bring himself to spend a dime to step inside a hospital.

I knew he was dying. A severe infection had long since destroyed his lungs, and his internal organs were systematically shutting down. He wouldn’t survive to see the end of this winter.

Slumping heavily onto the wooden table, his breathing grew shallower, his life force rattling away as the dark blood seeped into the fabric of the tablecloth.

“Sienna… Ethan is so tired…”

“Everything I owed you… I’ve paid it back to others…”

“Can you please… just forgive me… come visit me in my dreams, just once…”

With a violent tremor, he raised a shaking hand into the empty air, reaching blindly out as if desperate to catch a fistful of my dress.

I stood perfectly still right in front of him, looking down.

I watched his clouded, glassy eyes fill with a pathetic, begging desperation.

I didn’t reach out to take his hand.

Five years ago at Mount Oakhaven, I had thrown my weight forward to shove him clear of the landslide because I loved him more than my own life.

Later, when I swallowed those sleeping pills, it was because I knew with absolute certainty that I had become a draining, resented burden to him.

Truth be told, I had already forgiven him a long time ago. Human beings are inherently selfish creatures; even the most devoted souls wear thin when chained to a sickbed for too long, and siblings are no exception.

I didn’t hate him for growing to resent me; I only blamed him for granting me a glimpse of hope, only to brutally crush it between his fingers.

Ethan’s outstretched hand hovered in the empty air for a long, agonizing beat before finally losing its remaining strength and dropping lifelessly onto the table.

He was dead.

He died on New Year’s Eve, a night meant for families to gather, entirely consumed by an eternal, suffocating wave of regret and isolation.

A faint, peaceful smile of liberation lingered on his dead face, as if he honestly believed that once his soul crossed the threshold into eternity, he would find me waiting for him.

But he didn’t know.

I wasn’t going to wait for him. Not now, not ever.

Death isn’t a beautiful reunion; death is a total and absolute severance.

The final, lingering attachment binding my spirit to this earth dissolved entirely the exact second he drew his last breath.

I turned my back on his corpse and walked away, stepping directly into the blinding, brilliant white light.

If there is a next life:

I want a pair of healthy, strong legs, so I can sprint wildly beneath the open sunshine.

I want a pair of bright, flawless eyes, so I can see through the illusions of this world and read the truth of the people around me.

And I want parents who love me unconditionally, who will cherish me like a real, priceless treasure.

But as for a brother—I never want one again.