A bit of writing.

The soft footsteps were enough to alert the young boy that danger was coming. He knew it was better to pretend to be asleep. Sometimes his brother would just stand over him for a while and then go back to his bed on the other side of the room. The young boy focused on his breathing, trying to mimic the rhythmic in and out sound of deep sleep. The beatings had been off and on for more than a few years and he could feel that tonight was going to be a bad one. He fought the instinct to jump when he felt his brother climb onto the bed. The older boy was seventeen, four years the senior to his much smaller brother.

“Wake up,” the older boy whispered. “Hey dweeb, wake up.” The younger boy maintained his rhythmic breathing but grunted a little as if he was too deep in sleep to be bothered. He knew it was coming, but he was sure that if he sprung out of bed and bolted for the door, there would be no sanctuary available. His parents weren’t home, and even when they were the door was locked and they would not be bothered. He could run into the streets, after all he was faster than the much larger boy, but in here was a beating, out there was a death sentence for a small white boy.

“Hey,” the older boy whispered, rolling his younger brother onto his back. He fought a little out of fear, but then relaxed trying to play possum. He felt a heavy weight on the bed as the older boy jumped. The younger boy opened his eyes fearing the worst, but before he could react the older boy crashed down on his chest with both knees, driving him hard into the bed. He gasped for air but could not draw a breath. The older boy pinned his brother’s arms with his knees. The younger boy closed his eyes, this time not to fake sleep, but to avoid seeing the flurry of punches coming. The first landed squarely on his nose and he could feel the cartilage break away and blood exploded outward into his mouth and down his chin. The second caught him as he was turning his head just below his right eye. He felt his brain slam against the inside of his skull as his head bounced upward into the oncoming third blow. The skin above his right eye split open spraying blood down the side of his face. The young boy looked up through a sheet of red in time to see the fourth and final blow pound straight down into his nose, a crack signaled the splintering of the bone. The older boy stopped and looked down at his brother. A small fragment of bone had ripped through the side of his nose and was pressing against his left eye. The older boy grinned and dismounted. The young boy let out a small moan of pain. He could hear his brother stop and turn. The young boy tried to roll away but his brother was too strong. He grabbed him and stuffed a dirty sock into his mouth.

“You need to learn to shut the fuck up, faggot,” the older boy said before climbing into his bed and falling asleep. The young boy laid there silently holding his face. He was just releved that this time his brother didn’t have the knife.

And that is why I have such a hard time sleeping with anyone else in the same room. It’s even harder to fall asleep when there is someone in the same bed.

That was my life at 13. More stories to come!