Scapegoat- A trauma deeply engraved

Tears fell from my eyes and landed on his fragile skin. What had he done to receive so much hatred? How had he offended the gods to have such an ill-fate? Was I even fit to be called his brother? His skin was paler than ever as he rested in my arms. His hands clasped my shorts. Blood oozing from the wound he got on his head, was tarnishing my white shirt crimson.

“Kyle-- Kyle! ”, I called out to him in a hushed tone, fearing Matthew would hear me. There was no sound. No motion. Caressing him, I shook him gently and then vigorously. My heartbeat accelerated with my movement, but his body did not budge.

The rhythm of his rib cage moving to and fro was no longer stable, and his grip on my shorts loosened. I took my blood-covered hands and brought it to his nose. His breathing was sparse. Losing my composure, I shrieked, “Mother! Mother! Matthew! Kyle! Kyle isn’t breathing”.

Mother came running in, and that was the first time when I had witnessed guilt in her eyes. Ha! It was the peace before the bloodshed. Those soft emotions were just momentary before the diabolical smile reappeared on her face. She picked her phone from the dining table and went out of the room.

I was panic-stricken. Quivering, I extended my hand to touch his eyes, but couldn't bring myself to feel him. He had been through so much, and yet he lay there, innocuous.

Just then, Matthew came in.

“Look what you did Ezequiel. You killed your brother", He exclaimed.

“I didn’t! You and mother! I did not!”.

“Now, shouldn’t you take responsibility for what you have done? Do you want to disappoint your mother?”

“N-no, but I didn't--You did! You told me that as long as I hit him, you will not hit me or Virginia, didn't you say that?”

“Did I? How come I don't remember? You killed your brother, you did!”

With that, he marched off.

Oh, oh! what had I done? My brother! And I killed him? No, no! Shivering with grief I caught a glimpse of my hands that were now, enveloped in my brother’s blood.

I could hear the police siren nearing our house, and as it pulled over, my heart skipped a beat.

The nurses and paramedics rushed in the room and ascended to pick my brother up from my arms, but I wouldn’t let them take him away, not now, not ever! I cradled him in my arms as my whimpering turned to heavy sobs. They asked me to let go, and I reluctantly let him go once again, just like I always had.

I remember the day he came in. It was ecstatic! We played for hours that day. Even mother joined in. The days were merry and the nights were lovely until, the demon came in.

Our happy little universe turned into a nightmare. It started with mother coming home late and breaking things in the living room. She was out of control, and a strange man came along with her. Kyle, Virginia, and I hid in one of the rooms.

The sight was horrifying, it was as if she no longer knew her identity. The smoke had our lungs choked and as the eldest brother, I held them both behind me, safeguarding them against the trauma they would have to go through.

I went through it all, every day, alone. His visits became frequent and so did mother’s wildness. Yet, we stayed put and tried to make ourselves invisible. We were out of her way when she would come home with no control over herself, and things were working fine that way until, Kyle's football rolled out of the room, and landed on Matthew's foot.

I tried to stop him, but Kyle went out to take his ball and, swing! Matthew hit Kyle back on the chest with his ball. He dragged Kyle and locked him in the cupboard. Mother stood there, watching her child being beaten up but did not retaliate.

Tears filled my eyes. Sob! I couldn't hold it in and let out a cry.

Matthew dragged me in the room by my hair and told me to lock the cupboard. I didn't move. He then made his way towards Virginia.

“No stop! I will do it! Don’t hurt her please, please!-- I beg you”, and that was the beginning of hell.

One mistake was all it took for them to cage him in the cupboard. When mother was not looking, I or Virginia would sneak to give him food.

When a day would pass with no food, mother would ask us to give him cat stool to eat. The sight itself was so disgusting, I fail to imagine how he managed to dump it down his throat.

Series of such events had increased three folds, and yet, there was no angel sent from heaven. I was named Ezequiel, an angel, and yet I became the demon in my brother’s horror.