Based on a true story:
I hug my younger brother as warm, heavy tears bleed from my eyes. they leak to my light pink cheeks. “I love you brother,” I say as the lump in my throat ached.
‘Woah, wait,’ you may say. I know I never hug my brother or tell him I love you, but I did after the dream that taught me a lesson for my life. It taught me that it's never too late to tell someone you love them. It also taught me that. People could be gone, so never hurt them or their feelings. Show them love and respect. I’ll tell you what happened in that dream…
“Loser!” I yelled as I stomped upstairs and slammed my door and locked it madly. My eight-year-old brother ran after me, but I already closed the door.
He kicked the door strongly. He does have tiny hands, but his punches are stronger than you think. “Idiot!” he shouted as he kicked and slammed the door.
I ignored him, turned the lights off, and dumped myself on my bunk bed.
Idiots. I told myself. Idiot brother. I hope he dies. I buried my face in the pillow. Why is he even alive!
Slowly, slowly, my eyes drifted to sleep.
My dream felt real. It felt so real, I thought it was true.
I woke up, the sun rays trying to reach out for my face. The sun rays were too bright, I had to cover my face with my blanket. Our house was too quiet. That was too odd. The house was usually noisy; My brother playing around, watching T.V on max volume, or shouting wanting to play with his friends. But that morning was quiet.
I went downstairs and found out that my brother died. I was so happy in the dream. I didn’t care that he died. I wanted to throw a big party.
Days passed. Days turned onto weeks. Weeks turned into months. And months turned into years. At this point, I felt lonely.
In the dream, the scene changed. I was in a hospital. My mother got a baby. But the baby wasn’t a baby. It was my brother. My brother, but smaller. As a one year old that can talk and walk. He looked adorable. He looked cute. I don’t remember what happened n the dream, but I didn’t see my mom after that. My brother walked to me and his tiny hand, held my hand. He looked up to me and said, “I’m scared.”
His honey-brown eyes were filled with tears.
“W…what’s wrong?” I asked. For a moment I found myself worried for him.
he hugged me and said again, “I’m scared.”
“You are scared of what?” I asked. He didn’t answer. I carried him and hugged him as I put him on the chair. He was still hugging me. He was warm. Suddenly, I felt guilty. I felt guilty that I used to hate him. I used to hate him, but when he was older. This kid was still a kid when I hated him. for a moment, I felt as if he meant everything for me. For a moment, I had a soft spot over him. in the next few days, I used to feed him and cook for him. I took care of him and played with him. eventually, I treated him as my own baby. I loved him. for some reason, I still felt guilty for my brother that died. I used to hate him. and now he is here with me. I take care of him and love him.
There was a camp that my brother and I went to. But during the camp, the director said that he didn’t allow kids at his age. I tried to tell him that he had nowhere to go. But he still wouldn’t budge.
“Please,” I begged. “I can’t leave him alone. Why don’t you allow him here?”
“We got a kid at his age once, “the director said. “And he died. This place isn’t suitable for kids of his age. If you want your brother to stay here, we’ll kill him.”
“No,” I said. “please no.” I clenched my hands around the tiny hand that held mine.
I carried my brother over my back as I walked home. “I love you brother,” I said. Guilt was hitting me hard. I hated my other brother. He was the same. They both were kids. They both were younger. It hurts when I remember how I used to fight with a baby.
Why did I ever fight and hate my other brother? I want my other brother. I want to tell him sorry.
My eyes flutter open as tears slid down my face. It's just a dream. I told myself. It's not real. My brother is still here…right?
I went downstairs, finding my brother calm, watching T.V. my mother sleeping on the couch. My father at work.
“Good Morning honey,” my mother said.
“Mornin,” I said. I usually woke up and hugged my mother, but this day, I went to my brother instead. Guilt was squeezing my heart. I sat on the couch next to him. a painful lump formed in my throat.
I hugged my younger brother as warm, heavy tears bleed from my eyes to my light pink cheeks. “I love you brother,” I said as the lump in my throat ached.
Its never too late to tell someone you love them. If they were ever gone, you’ll miss them. Even though you used o hate them. You will miss their noise. But you should know that there is a tiny place in everyone’s heart that loves the person they hate. For me, there is a big place for my brother in my heart. That dream taught me to love my brother and spend time with him as if it was the last because I will never know when it will be. if you have any siblings that you hate, trust me you love them. They have a place in your heart. You’ll find it.