Ah, I'm dreaming.
It's a fleeting thought, but one that anchors me in reality. I'm the type of person who can tell whether they're dreaming or not. Not every time, of course, but when the situation strikes me as too odd to be true, I tend to realize it's fake. This eerie feeling of reality without being reality is easy to recognize.
Sometimes, though, ignorance is bliss, and I'd love nothing more than to remain oblivious, just like today.
I'd have liked to bask in the moment without knowing it was a figment of my imagination and just enjoy a moment long lost. I haven't seen Bryan's bright smile in years, and it feels good to catch a glimpse of it again, even if it's from a ten-year-old boy.
…Am I dreaming of my brother because I've been thinking of him all evening? When did I even fall asleep, to begin with?
Whatever. It doesn't matter.
No matter how heartwarming the sight is, it's kind of strange to watch my young self and my twin play together from a third-person point of view.
It's like watching a movie, and a very badly filmed one at that. The scenes are all jumbled up, turning into a tangle of discontinuity that makes no sense whatsoever. Coherence is clearly not the main point here.
One moment, we are at the playground near the clan house, running around and playing with dirt or climbing up slides, and the next, we're snuggling against our mother on the couch, invading her personal space as she reads us a story.
"And so, the wolf blew on the straw house, and it crumbled to dust!"
Oh, yeah, I liked this story when I was young, didn't I? The one with three pigs and a wolf. Bryan preferred the Sleeping Beauty, for some reason.
If my memory serves me right, we squabbled a lot whenever it was story time, didn't we?
I think we even got into a big fight once and refused to speak to each other for days.
—Brats and their childish pettiness, I swear.
Anyway, that aside, it's odd how my brother and I are clearly defined in the dream, be it our appearances, clothing, or even our voices, but our mother is not.
Her face is a blob of smudgy beige and dots of darker colors, while her voice is indistinct, something akin to a buzzing sound. I can only understand what she's saying because it's a dream, and it's more like the meaning of what she says flows to my mind, rather than my ears capturing spoken words, if that makes sense.
How disappointing. I'd have liked to see her again, even if only in a dream.
Whatever I think, the scene changes abruptly for the nth time, cutting the storytelling short.
The living room swirls into an amalgam of colors and turns into a familiar bedroom. It's the one I shared with Bryan when we were boys.
There's a creaking sound, and Bryan gets off his bed, a teddy bear in his arms. He tiptoes to my bed, which is opposite to his, and asks in a small voice, "Scott? Are you asleep?"
No, don't tell me.
"No? Is something wrong?" My clueless little self yawns back, sitting up. "You can't sleep?"
It's that night. It has to be that night. You've got to be shitting me…! I can't even get some respite in my sleep now?! Is it too much to ask…? Just. Let me dream of happy moments, and not this.
I'm begging you.
But it's not like the dream cares about my thoughts, and things follow their destined path. As an outside spectator, I can only watch, even though I already know how it'll end.
"Sorry, I'm just nervous about tomorrow," Bryan shyly says—yes, my cold-faced brother had once been a cute, innocent child. It didn't last, though. "Say, can I sleep with you?"
"Yeah, sure!"
Little me scrambles further on the edge of the bed, giving enough space to my brother to climb in. Smiling a little too brightly, Bryan sneaks under the blanket. It's not the first time he's done that—we often shared the same bed whenever he had a nightmare, and he had many as a child.
"But why are you so nervous? It's just going up the mountain to pay your respect to the spirits. You're even going with Mom and Uncle Philip, like you did last year. There's nothing to worry about."
"I don't know." Bryan shifts, staring at my younger self with pleading eyes. "It's just that Uncle is scaring me lately. I don't like the way he looks at me."
Of course, you don't.
That Uncle of ours was a fucking monster in human skin. You're right to be scared of him.
But, in this dream, neither of us knows that, and little me isn't afraid.
At that age, my childlike innocence would never have allowed me to doubt my uncle; I couldn't consider the possibility that a family member was plotting my brother's demise. I didn't know yet how greedy human hearts could get, and now, I know it all too well.
"—Do you want me to go in your place, then?"
"Eh? But they said that the eldest has to go!"
"Come on!" Little me giggles, unaware of what's to come tomorrow. "The adults can't differentiate us, anyway. They can't tell who is who. I'm sure Uncle Philip won't notice, either. I don't mind. Just give me your cookie next time, and we'll be even."
Bryan ponders for a moment, and I don't know whether I want him to say he'll go or not. Either way, a tragedy will strike. The only difference is who's going to bear the burden of it.
"Ok! It's a deal! Don't come back on your words, alright?"
Mischievous giggles resound, and I feel a deep discomfort. Even though I'm dreaming, my bowels are twisting into knots.
I won't get that cookie.
—I wake at that thought, feeling like my heart has climbed to my throat. What a shitty dream. No, more than a dream, that was clearly a memory. Probably not all that fateful to the past, but close enough.
The chair cracks as I move.
Oh, looks like I fell asleep in Jordan's bedroom and now my body is sore. Considering the light outside has grown dim, I must have slept for a while.
'Why?! Why is it only you who came back?!'
The sobbing voice echoes in my head, and a scoff leaves me. I'm awake, yet that darn dream continues. Memories surface, even though I'd rather keep them buried in the depths of my subconscious.
But my brother's wailing is something I can't never forget. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can even see the shadow of his crying face.
Why was I the only one to come back, huh…?
The reason is quite simple, really; my mother protected me to the best of her capabilities, even if it meant losing her life. If she had been alone at the time, she might have survived.
To start with, she wouldn't have been abducted alongside me if she had been by herself.
The target had been the eldest son, and only the eldest son.
That is something I've never told my brother, and I'm hell-bent on bringing that secret to the grave, especially since, in an ironic twist of fate, I should have been the one to go on the trip that cost him his ability to walk.
"…How ironic, indeed."
It's enough that only one of us knows. No need to twist the knife for no reason.