Dear M e m o r y 03

(Trigger warning: gore (at the last scene). Viewers discretion is advised.)

"You." The little boy said, peering down at the smaller boy.

"Yes?" The smaller boy said, his big, bright blue eyes glitter with the chandelier. The other boy notices the child has a soft accent when he speaks, and that because he's so tiny, he has to crane his neck just to speak to him.

But he likes it; he likes how the other boy has to look up to him, so he smiles, crocked and amused-like.

"Mom said we should get along," the boy's eyes wander to the smaller boys. They look nothing alike; the smaller boy's skin is lighter, his hair is blonde, and his eyes—the thing the other boy hated the most—looked just like his mother, his mother, and only his alone.

"But I don't want to." He said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don't like you."

The smaller boy only stares back, his face down casted.

"Don't make that face," the boy's brown eyes turn menacing, angry, hungry for blood. "And give me that-!" The boy snatches a toy—a stuffed bunny—from the smaller boy's hands.

"Please give it back-!" The smaller boy jumps up, reaching as the taller boy holds the bunny in the air, mocking him as he jumps up to retrieve it. "That's mine-!" He said, his little arms too small to reach for his toy, the one he cherished the most.

"Boys," the taller boy covers the smaller boy's mouth, his brown eyes glaring at him, warning him. "What do you want to drink?" A soft voice calls from the kitchen.

"Water's fine, mom." The taller boy said. "We'll have juice later."

He waits for his mother to respond with a hum, her footsteps softly disappearing, distant, like a memory.

"Listen here," The taller boy said, his brown eyes illuminating strong emotion—strong hatred—for the little boy, "that bunny is mine, this house is mine, my mom is mine! Mine! You heard me? Not ours, but mine! So go away and stop making my mom sad!"

"I didn't mean to make her sad," the little boy deflates, "I only want everyone happy. I like everyone."

"No one likes you," the other boy snickers, "you were a mistake cause mom and your dumb dad decided to have you. But your dad is mean. He keeps pushing my mom away, and I don't like that."

"I'm sorry," the smaller boy softly cries. "I'll talk to pops-."

"It's useless," the taller boy said, "he only wants to save you, and leave me and mom sad and alone. And I hate that."

"I'm s-sorry." The smaller boy reaches to pat the taller boy's head, his big blue eyes soaked in crystals. "Don't be sad."

The other boy rages, his big brown eyes widen in anger. He rips the other boy's hand from the top of his head, gripping the other boy's arm in a tight grasp.

"You're looking down on me, just like your stupid dad-!" The smaller boy shakes his head. He backs away, pulling his aching wrist, tears in his eyes as fear fills his stomach like a tummy ache. The other boy lets go, scoffing only to instantly reach forward in horror, watching the little boy fall back.

"Boys-." His mother rounds the kitchen corner with two full glasses of water, but she lets out a piercing scream, dropping the glasses, letting them crash and roll on the hard wooden floor.

The boy—his brown eyes stare at the little boy, his blue eyes wide, rolled at the back of his head, as blood and pieces of brain drip from his head on the stairs.