Weak, exposed. They see me. They can all see me. They know what happened, what was done to me, what I did. Did I do it? Was it my fault? Do I just attract bad things? Yes, I must. Otherwise it wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t have hurt me. Or would he? He was already a monster, a psychopath. Ill, he was ill. He needed help, I should’ve noticed. I should’ve seen the signs, then nothing would have happened. It was my fault. My brother, my fault. That’s why he hates me, because I let him become this monster. Because I didn’t help him, I wasn’t there for him. I never paid enough attention. It was always about me, even when mother died. All me, never him. That’s why he did it. He was jealous. Jealous that I was the one with all the eyes on me, and angry I didn’t help him. That I never saw him for what he was.
If I had, he wouldn’t have become this. He wouldn’t have killed so many. He could have been amazing, he could have been beautiful. More so than he is now. A light in the grim of our life instead of even more darkness. But would that have been the right thing? I see him and he smiles at me as though proud of me. He is my monster, I made him, no he made him for me. He is the Moriarty to my Holmes, and I adore him for it. He hated the others for their weakness, but he saw the strength in me, the potential, all he had to do was give a nudge, give me a mystery to solve, and i would thrive. I did better than thrive, i became the best version of me, i became more than all of them. He’s my monster, my mystery and i wont stop until i solve him.
shortstorylives 