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Born to be Cut Down

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Today I witnessed the murder of my brother. I saw the man come into our home and pull out his axe, the sharp silver blade refracting the light onto the floor, chilling my insides until I was stiff as a board. Like any other, I had heard stories of cases like this one, unsuspecting families mutilated by charming strangers, though before today they were just that, stories. This is one of the greatest flaws of all living creatures on earth; we look for the good in others, a naivety creating the utmost vulnerability.
I watched as the man examined us all, looking us up and down as someone would inspect a work horse to plow their fields at an auction house. He paused and pondered for a moment, and then with a sickening smile, that venomous man patted my brother before picking up his axe. I could not watch yet I could not look away, it was a true helplessness that caused me to lose power over my own self and so I sat there transfixed, as the axe was raised.
The man pushed back his shoulders and raised the axe above his head, as if calculating his swing for a driving hit in golf. Then down came the first hit, penetrating my brother’s flesh, again and again he swung. My brother’s soft insides were visible and the ground was littered with the stream of liquid dribbling out. The man started to whistle as he worked. Could he not hear my brother’s screams, see his face contorted from the agony he was enduring and the exertion he felt from every fiber that made up his being, fighting to maintain consciousness, for consciousness meant life; to ignore the swings of the axe as minute by minute the blackness continued to press closer. How could someone be capable of inflicting such cruelty onto another living being?
Suddenly, with one last sigh, my brother started to double over, slowly at first, then faster and faster until he was on the ground. NO! I wanted to scream, I wanted to make myself heard! When I opened my mouth no sound came out, not even a horrified gasp; just…silence. I could do nothing more than watch the bleeding mess on the ground, that disfigured lump. I was weak, shrinking away in the background. Then the man shifted to face me, and for a moment I hoped he would turn that axe onto me, I welcomed the pain for that pain would lead to an end, an end permitting myself and my brother to remain united. A quick death following a short life would be better than to remain alone for an eternity, would it not be? What is the point of living if all it will bring is loneliness and pain until you have learned to control these feelings, replacing them with a permanent numbness to settle over your body? Why not speed up the process?
It was as if the man heard my thoughts as though I was speaking them aloud. He looked at me, almost into me, and he smiled. He stood there smiling and I knew right then he would not grant my wish. He was a psychopath, and what was I to do? What power did I hold, for I am just a mere tree, rooted to the ground in an eternity of silence. We cannot speak, but the trees are filled with memories, and we never forget.




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