I Didn't Go To My Brother's Funeral

British Columbia,

June 18

2178

Gregory built paper cranes while he waited for his brother to appear on his glass tablet. The Relar site had various channels running twenty-four hours a day; one for each player. Gregory had logged into his brother's channel yesterday. He had sent Chris three hundred dollars, a tenth of his monthly allowance. He liked watching his brother play the games; he liked watching him cut down wolves or outthink other players. But about thirteen hours ago, his brother's channel and everyone else's had turned black.

Gregory had fallen asleep and woken up to the same dark screen.

Gregory didn't want to worry. He wasn't a worrier; he was always calm, collected, and calculative. When Gregory had made his hundredth paper crane, he placed it atop his comforter. He sat in the midst of them; his fingers felt odd, numb. A butler knocked on his door, tearing his attention from the black screen. "Young Master Gregory, I have a package for you."

"Enter." Gregory grinned.

He didn't know what was wrong with the Relar site, but he felt that a weight had been lifted off his chest. He let himself breathe, welcoming in the cold air that soothed his lungs.

The butler stepped inside. He was a neat, old man wearing an immaculate black tuxedo; his white hair always parted to the left. His long face had the sagging skin that came from age and experience. The butler avoided the young master's gaze, placed the package on the bed, and bowed before leaving the room.

It was a bottle filled with sand; it had Gregory's name and address on a sticker plastered to the bottle's widest section. He poured the sand into the bin and took out the letter. The paper was rolled tightly. Once he unwound it, he saw that the ink was somewhat faded but legible. There was nothing to say it was from Chris, but Gregory knew his brother's handwriting.

Dear Gregory,

Is mother well? I know she was against me entering the games, but it's been a few weeks into this season, and I have done pretty well, haven't I? I don't mean to brag, but your amazing older brother is 15th place on the leaderboard (out of the 200 people that are alive), but it's still a good place. I'm working on completing more quests to earn more reputation points and money. Perhaps, I'll use the fame I garner here to enter politics.

Anyhow, I'm about to do something big. I'm not sure how it will play out. People have protested about the killings that occur in games before, but neither the game's administrators nor the government do anything about it. We must stand up for ourselves. If our leaders will not fight for us, then we will have to fight for ourselves. That's what I'm going to talk about at 17:30, June 17. I'm nervous. The government (Lanc family and their self-serving supporters) have never responded well to complaints about their policies or lack of. We live in a society where opposing parties are quickly shut down, shoved into jail, or murdered. But I'm not going against the president. Not exactly. I don't think what I'm doing should put me in jail or anything....

I just think killing should be banned in Relar, and I also think the government should force Relar's President Fidel to do so. My friends feel the same way. The games are challenging enough without them. I don't know how the government will react to our message. I don't know how the game administrators will react, but I have to do something. I have to make the game safer for you and your friends.

Give mom a kiss for me.

Love,

Chris.

***

Gregory leaned against the headboard, examining the pointed edge of a paper crane. He remembered his brother's speech the day before. The screen went black as soon as he had asked to make the killings illegal. What happened off camera? Had a few kids asking to make murder illegal caused the game to get shut down? Was his brother on his way home after getting kicked off the island? The black screen changed to a general broadcast that was being played on all channels.

Gregory stared at it, wondering what would happen next.

A near seven-foot-tall man stood behind a podium in a white suit. He had shoulder-length white hair and a white smile; his teeth were most likely fake-- too clean to be natural for a man of his age. He had a slight hunch to his back. His eyes were dark brown and watery. The skin of his throat sagged like the many folds of his face. This was the man that had created Relar. Ibrahim Fidel.

His voice was soft, so there was complete silence when he spoke. "Today, we suffered an unfortunate loss. A tsunami has submerged the island of St. Lucia. Our men are currently searching the wreckage for bodies. Most of the players have been lost in the vast body of the ocean. It is a terrible tragedy." He paused to look at the camera.

Gregory could feel Fidel trying to remember a speech that someone had written for him.

Fidel scratched his jaw. "Before the cameras died, some of you may have seen a few players asking us to make the killing in the games illegal. Now, I understand that some of you may lord those players as heroes; you may have been impressed by their skills and abilities, but they weren't the angels you believe them to be.

"Before the tsunami hit, we were tipped off by some of the NPs working for us that these players had been plotting murder. They wanted to kill our president. The same president that has supported our country for the last five years. The same president that helps the rich and the poor without prejudice against either. I have proof of their misdeeds. It will be released later."

Fidel shook his head slowly and let out a lengthy sigh.

He dabbed his forehead with a kerchief and continued, "Many of you protested on their behalf, but these people do not care about you. They care about themselves. Killing is not illegal in Relar as we believe that it's the players' responsibility to learn right and wrong for themselves. The game is a test to see how children act when we take the law away from them. That's what makes it interesting and popular. It shows us how teenagers act when they know that they won't be punished for their actions. It reveals their true nature.

"It is not my duty to force players to obey the laws. It is your job to teach your child right and wrong. Teach your children to value life, and we won't have to worry about anyone getting murdered in the game. Let law lead your children from within."

Gregory knew what Fidel was up to and saw many flaws with his argument. If law was within someone, then why did they exist outside of Relar? Why where there police officers and judiciary systems? Fidel knew that some vices couldn't be extinguished like the cold-blooded passions that drove someone to murder. No matter how much time passed, homicides continued to occur. But his speech removed the spotlight from himself and pushed the blame to the parents and teachers. At the same time, he continued to profit off kids murdering one another.

The screen changed to a view of helicopters circling the ocean. The whir of the blades and the gentle splashing of water reached Gregory's ears. He wondered if that part of the sea was truly covering the island. He wondered if everyone had simply died, or if the tsunami was a coverup for something else. He wondered if his brother was locked in a cell somewhere. Fidel's weathered face returned, the noise of the waves and helicopters vanished.

The old man said, "We usually don't offer compensation for children who die in the games as every player that signs up for Relar knows and accepts the risks. However, we feel that the tsunami was a freak accident. Something that we neither predicted nor planned for. And we take full responsibility for not being able to escort the players and non-players to safety. We will work alongside President Lanc's party to provide compensation to the families that have lost loved ones, and yes that includes the families of children that were plotting murder."

Gregory left his room. The man was spewing bullshit. Instead of addressing the problem, he was demonising the 'dead' who could not prove their innocence and telling parents to raise their children better.

Downstairs, his father talked in hushed whispers to a man in the front foyer. Gregory walked down the hall, staying close to the wall as he approached the stairs. As he neared the end, he pressed his back against the wall and peeked over the side, down the spiralling staircase and saw his father speaking to someone from the military. The man was dressed in black and grey camouflage. He wore a dull grey cap and carried a rifle on his shoulder.

Gregory's father, Matthew, was an attractive man with short brown hair and the excellent posture one got from working in the military when they were young. As he was relaxing in his home, he wore a casual business suit and shoes. His voice rose in anger as he said, "My son was not a terrorist. Get out of here with that bullshit. Get out!"

The soldier said, "We have evidence that proves otherwise."

Matthew waved his hand dismissively. "For all I know, you could have made these texts up. My son doesn't use punctuation when he texts people. He likes to leave things open-ended."

"That's a minor point, sir. It doesn't prove his innocence."

Gregory had a letter that showed his brother was likely set up to discredit his authority. Instead of banning killing, the game administrators, developers, and president had decided to attack the credibility of the innocent children who had wanted to protect the lives of future players.

Matthew held up a piece of paper. "You want me to go on air saying that I disagree with my son's statements and that while I love him, I disapprove of his plans to kill the president—plans that only you seem to believe to exist."

The man said, "Sir, you have a second son and a wife. Before you say anything else, think about them. If you deny our offer, you will be considered a threat to the country's peace, your fuel company will be blacklisted. Your earnings will dry up; you will have to sell your house and possessions to meet your basic needs, but money will run out. Eventually, your family will live in shabby little tents with the rest of the homeless. This is the message I have been given for you. President Lanc bears your family no ill-will; he just wants to stop others from trying to do as your son did. It's not wise to criticize the structure of Relar. President Fidel doesn't like being told how to run his game."

"The only thing my son has done is ask to make killing in the fucking Relar Game illegal. Tell me what's so bad about that."

"You've heard about the plan to assassinate President Lanc."

"And I do not believe it."

The soldier sighed. Gregory paused to think before approaching them. He pressed his cool fingers against his eyelids. If his brother was dead, he would fight the government. But this wasn't the time or the place. To fight, they needed money and support. He got the feeling that if the tsunami really happened, it wasn't an accident. It was a warning to others. Do not try to change the games. It will continue as it always has.

Gregory walked down the stairs. Though he was young, he had a way of moving and talking that captivated people. The soldier watched him silently. Out of the two brothers, he was the more attractive one, albeit, less social. While his brother could gather an army of people to join his cause, Gregory found it hard to scrape together two or three friends. The ones he had now were oddballs—a gay, a fool with sideburns, and a French idiot with no redeeming qualities who chased girls relentlessly.

Now, Gregory found something inside of him tuning to a higher purpose. He would find out what happened to his brother, and he would continue where Chris left off. But mostly, he wanted revenge. He wanted to see someone's blood on the carpet. Whether it was President Lanc or Fidel, it didn't matter. The two of them would suffer if they had murdered Chris.

As he had reached the foyer, he put his hand on his father's shoulder.

Up close, he noticed that the soldier was tan with diamond-shaped eyes. He didn't smile or nod but regarded the boy through half-closed eyes, probably weary of being attacked by the disgruntled pair of father and son.

Gregory decided to play possum for now and said, "Father, the gentleman is right. Chris went against the government, and we shouldn't defend his actions as he was in the wrong. You should do as the man says."

Matthew's countenance showed his confusion. "What?"

Gregory told the soldier, "My father will speak as directed. I suppose you have a cheque for us."

The president had mentioned something about families being compensated for their loss.

The soldier nodded and held out an envelope.

Gregory took it, then he said, "You may leave." The soldier looked from father to son, and after a quick bow, he left the room.

Gregory's father was trembling. He looked upstairs, hesitant to wake the boys' mother, then jabbed a finger into his son's chest and whispered harshly, "Who gave you the authority to do something like that? Why should I go on TV and call my son a terrorist when I know he didn't do anything of the sort?"

Gregory said, "Because if you don't, you end up on the list of people who don't support the Lanc family, which means you are more likely to get assassinated by some unnamed terrorists. It has happened to many before you like the vice-presidential candidate David Walters from four years ago. Where is he now, father? If you don't remember, let me remind you, he is buried in the ground somewhere. Is that what you want? The Lanc family has been in power for the last fifty years, and they have the support of many people. Do not go against them while you are angry and irrational. Go sleep it off, then do as they say."

Matthew clenched his jaw, his muscles rippling like a smooth wave. He said, "You're one heartless, bastard. You should break the news to your mother on my behalf. God knows I don't have it in me to look her in the eye and tell her the truth, but you do. You don't seem to feel anything for your brother, so it should be easy enough.... Oh, and they found your brother's body—he is dead, no question about it. The funeral will be held on the weekend. Not that you care."

Gregory stayed silent. His father brushed past him and stomped upstairs. Matthew had loved Chris the most; they had laughed and spoken together often. Matthew and Gregory didn't have that connection. Gregory liked silence so much he had said his first word when he was eight. His parents had taken him to many specialists to cure his selective mutism without any results. Then one day, he had spoken in perfect sentences, English and Spanish (the latter he had picked up from listening to his friend, Adonis, read aloud during the summer). His first words were to tell his father that his voice was disrupting the music of the wind. It was something Adonis had said. He had asked his father to shut up so he could hear it.

Everything in nature had its own song was what Adonis liked to say, you just had to be willing to listen.

Ever since then, his father regarded him as some alien critter. He smiled at the memory.

***

When Gregory told his mother about Chris' death the following day, she fainted as dramatically as the women in the old-fashioned movies he watched with Adonis. He carried her to bed. She was light in his arms. He wondered how a fragile body like hers had given birth to him and his brother. He covered her limp body with her fluffy blanket then went to the morgue alone where he saw his brother's body before it was turned to ashes. It was bloated from the seawater and blue with decomposition settling in. Chris had been stuffed into a black suit to preserve what was left of his dignity after death. Oddly enough, he reminded Gregory of an overcooked hotdog.

The chemical preservatives gave off an overwhelming stench.

"I loved you," he said.

His brother said nothing back. He would never speak again.

Or write another letter. Gregory felt his eyes sting as they did before tears fell, but he ignored it. He didn't cry; it wasn't in his nature. The crying was left to his heartbroken parents. He wasn't alright; he knew that. He felt the loss of his other half. The half of him that could smile and laugh naturally. He smiled then muttered, "And I still love you."

He pictured his brother a few days earlier, fighting a huge wolf. He had looked strong and powerful, invincible. But now he was lying dead. His skin no longer soft; his joints stiff; his eyelids shut, never to open again. A knot formed in his throat as he nodded at the man who would feed his brother's body into the furnace. "Put the ashes in a nice vase."

***

On the day of his brother's funeral, Gregory stayed home. He sat on his bed, surrounding himself with more paper cranes. He could tell by the cold way his parents looked at him that they didn't want him at the reception.

His brother's smiling face would be held in frames in the small, claustrophobic reception room. Everywhere he turned, he would see Chris' photo and be reminded of someone who had been unfairly robbed of his life. Relar had the best technology; there was no way a tsunami occurred without them knowing. It was lies. Everything was a lie. But Fidel and Lanc would pay, he would make certain of that.

He was better off at home by himself. There was a knock on the door, then the old butler announced, "Young masters Adonis, Jonas and Louis are here to see you."

"Let them in."

The first to stride inside was Jonas, a lanky boy with black hair, fine facial features and thick sideburns. Following him was a freckled redhead with a ruddy complexion and cheeky smile. Louis. Gregory's gaze fell on Adonis who was carrying what looked to be a map. He had cropped blonde hair. Curly strands drifted across his forehead. He had a subtle chin and small ears that quickly turned red whenever he was embarrassed. He had a slender frame, but he was lithe and could run quickly. He was Gregory's only gay friend and he loved music and movies. His father was Greek, while his mother's parents emigrated to Canada from Mexico long ago. He spoke both languages.

"This was your idea," Gregory said, addressing Adonis.

"Aye, captain," Adonis said, lying on the bed. There was something alluring about the way he lay on the bed, crushing the paper cranes beneath him. "I made you a treasure map. The treasure's not around here, it's closer to my house."

"You know where it is?"

"Of course, I made the map and buried the treasure."

Adonis smiled, and Gregory's chest started to feel a bit odd. It tightened uncomfortably at the sight of Adonis, so he looked to Jonas instead. "You guys are entertaining this mad hunt?"

Jonas said, "Well, we figured you would be sad, so why not cheer you up?"

Gregory chuckled. "I don't need any cheering up, I'm perfectly happy as is. But if our little prince wants to go on a treasure hunt, let's do it." He ruffled Adonis' hair. Adonis pouted and fingered his curls, trying to put them in their proper place. For a guy, Adonis had many effeminate gestures. Was it simply because he was gay? When he did things like that, Gregory couldn't help finding Adonis cute. He said, "You should stop that."

"What?" Adonis asked.

"That."

"Thanks for the clarification." Adonis punched him gently then spoke in a low voice, "By the way, I'm not little, I'm average height, pendejo."

Gregory said, "Alright, alright, if our average-height prince wants to do it, let's do it."

Adonis frowned, the intense look in his eyes proved that he wanted to say something more, but he held himself back.

Though he wouldn't admit it, Gregory was happy to see them. His parents never checked to see if he was alright or simply burying his feelings until he forgot them. It was good to know someone cared. He pulled Adonis into a hug, grateful that he didn't feel another tug of attraction to the gay guy. Adonis patted his knee. "Enough of that, it's time to go."

"Aye, let's go, little prince."

He released Adonis. The boy rolled off the bed and got to his feet. He picked up one of the many paper cranes and studied it with a peculiar expression. After a moment he asked, "Am I really the mad one?"

Louis winked and said, "Nous sommes tous fous. That's why we get along."

Adonis smiled. "Touché."

Adonis' voice stirred some passion within Gregory, and he had to force himself to think about something else, so he didn't betray his feelings. He thought of his dead brother, replacing his lust with anger.

***