I'm Better Off Dead

My brother is dead.

It was several years ago; I was seventeen.

He and I had a kind of weird and twisted relationship.

Honestly, I've never been able to determine if he hated me, but that man went out of his way to provide the best for me — he was always like that, caring for those around him even when he feigned ignorance.

After completing high school, he followed his plan and got a job, moving to a neighborhood in the center of the city.

He was the role model my parents wanted me to follow: strict, dedicated, and intellectually gifted.

First place in the country's mathematics competition, first place in the university's hierarchy and also second place in the international exam of exact sciences.

Moreover, as much as he wouldn't admit it because it was something embarrassing for him, first place in not getting any bitches.

While he had his own money and place, I constantly asked myself why I should get a real job.

Putting it simple, I was hot and cute. And, in a world where Fansonly existed, I didn't have to worry about my future.

Or so I thought.

To be frank, compared to me, my brother was just perfect.

With that in mind, when I turned fifteen and started high school, my parents sent me to live with him so he could teach me my subjects and I could learn from his dedication to work and college.

Nonetheless, I didn't learn from him, not in the way they expected.

This worked for a while, however. Two weeks, to be precise with time.

I took advantage of his day-to-day fatigue to play on his state-of-the-art consoles and computers, and also tricked him, with the pretext of school events and lectures, to get money to go to parties with my friends.

Nevertheless, it didn't stop there.

Expensive gifts for my female friends? He would (unknowingly) pay!

New and popular games? His credit card was at my disposal!

Cutting-edge clothing and accessories? Let them come to mommy!

Like a viper, I only saw him as a walking bank for me.

But it didn't take long for it to completely collapse.

Because of me, my brother couldn't get a decent night's sleep, and in order to keep up with his college performance, he used to spend late nights in the local library studying.

Allied to his exhausting hours at work, he looked as if he had aged several years because of the accumulated fatigue.

His hands were thickly callused from daily manual labor and his Caucasian skin was paler than ever from days of studying sitting in a chair, not eating good portions of food.

On top of that, his hairstyle had also become hideous; the strands of hair sticking out every which way like pegs.

He looked like a homeless person at times.

And, honestly, I am still haunted in my nightmares, being reminded of him wherever I go.

I still remember that week, ''that day'' like it was yesterday.

''Can I borrow some money, brother?'', I asked innocently.

He was sitting on the couch, comfortably drinking coffee.

Reading a book, he answered without looking away.

''For what? You're dumb as fuck. What you need now is to study harder. I mean, if I hit your head, I'm pretty sure I can hear the echo of nothingness in there. So, don't think I'll fund your little parties.''

I bit my lip at his mean comment.

''The school is going on a trip to the neighboring city. There, we'll join a series of lectures on financial planning or some rubbish like that. The payment is 150 dollars."

''So you're attending a lecture and, above all, about finance? This is weird. That is, aren't the speakers going to be freaked out by a brainless imbecile sitting on the chairs?''

Making his usual cynical jokes, he just kept reading, unfazed.

Yet, at variance with his rude speeches, my brother took the wallet from the top of a pile of papers on the wooden table in front of him.

With a quick gesture, he hurled it at me.

''But, I support you putting something useful in that hollow head of yours. So, here ya go. There should be enough in that thing."

''Thank you very much, big bro!''

He believed in me. He believed in my potential.

At the time, many people thought the opposite about me, but my brother was hopeful that at some point I would figure it out and rise in society.

However, that was the last day I saw him.

By a misfortune of fate, he was fatally run over and died on the spot.

[Genius boy comes to death! Understand the case.]

[The consequences of sleep deprivation and what it did to the country's first ranked student.]

[Great academic hope is run over and killed! Teachers and colleagues declare mourning.]

One of the greatest academic promises in our country died so suddenly, making the news talk about it.

Gloomily, being far away, I couldn't even say goodbye. When I finally got back to the apartment, it was too late.

What's more, to make matters worse, when my parents unlocked his cell phone, they saw the picture that one of my friends had sent to my brother, where I was having fun on the beach.

I was absolutely despicable, in my parents' opinion.

Insults like "an ungrateful bitch" and a "small, disposable pile of walking feces" were the best things they hurled at me in their grief.

They abandoned me after making me confess everything -- left on the street to rot, I could only rely on luck and myself.

Favorite kid, you say? That was an outright lie.

The favorite child was always my brother (although that wasn't clear), but I didn't judge them.

It had to be that way, because, at first, I didn't come close to the countless accomplishments that my brother achieved throughout his life.

He lived 22 years, and even so, he achieved achievements that even in my wildest dreams I would not have been able to.

But what is my purpose in telling all this?

None at all.

This is simply a mental letter to myself, Alana Hartman, and a confession of my sins.

This is the last moment of my pathetic life, living on crumbs and favors ever since.

This is the ultimatum of my path.

''I'm coming to find you, brother'', muttering softly under the starlight, I looked down.

Cars below meandered by with their flashy lights. People walked back and forth, returning from their jobs.

And here I was, about to jump off this building, giving up after so many attempts to live properly.

"This life was boring."

Leap~

With a smile on my lips, I threw myself off the edge of the building, and went down like an arrow, cutting through the clouds and the wind itself.

As much as they told me otherwise, I no longer wanted to live in this world, with these people, with myself.

If possible, I wanted a new life.

A life where I could achieve new things and earn his forgiveness.

A peaceful life without too many complications.

''What the hell is that falling down?''

''Holy shit! It's a person! A person jumped from the K Corporation building!

''D-damn! She will die!''

''No shit, Sherlock!''

I could hear angels singing, whispering my name, and see the city lights fade to a sea of ​​glittering stars.

Grass fluttered in every direction, as if touching my skin.

Droplets of rain seemed to soak my skin even though it was utterly dry.

''Sophie...''

A voice in a strange language called out a name I didn't know. But why did I feel such warm heat in my chest?

My eyes sparkled as pieces of blond hair seemed to fall in front of me at the sound of that voice.

This was, without a doubt, nothing more than a hallucination. Yet, why so realistic?

''Haha'', I chuckled.

In a moment like this, when the refreshing breeze touched my hair and smoothed my cheeks as I crashed into the asphalt of the street, I asked myself:

Is his soul wandering somewhere else?

Well, wherever he is, I just hope he can live a better life than this one.

I wish he could forgive me. I wanted to see him again to apologize.

For at the end of the day, my brother is dead...

And I'm largely to blame for that.