When I was thirty-five I killed my brother. Nobody knows why. Well, nobody apart from me. Of course, the reason is obvious. However I am not going to tell anybody the reason I killed him until they clear out my cell tonight and they find this note. I am glad I did it. I always will be. In this life, and in the next. I am proud of myself.
I remember the day vividly; it was meticulously planned. The lie to get his wife out of the house was perfect. And I am glad it worked. If it had not have worked I would not have been able to kill him. The seventeenth of June was the day I decided I was going to do it. That day was both the worst day of my life and the best day of my life.
The seventeenth of June was an arid, parched day on which the sun …show more content…
His behavior at school always reflected badly on me. He was a disgrace to our name: he was always in trouble at school for making opprobrious remarks about his teachers. He was a greatly obstreperous youngster. But he was just misunderstood.
No matter how hard he pushed me away I was always there for him. He broke so many hearts when he ran away from home and ended up in jail for drug crimes. He was misguided and always took the blame for people. He was never the most mentally gifted person: he always took the blame because he wanted people to like him.
Steven was twenty-two when I killed him. Our parents died in a car crash twelve years before and my brother came to live with me. Some drunk-driver driving at a reckless speed lost control of the car and smashed into the side of them. The engine exploded instantly and killed them both – and the drunk driver, of course, survived. There is no justice. He was ten and I was …show more content…
And I did. I took care of him for eight years until he married that woman – and she certainly did not take care of him. She didn’t really understand him. You see, Steven was an amazing person, but living with him was difficult. If you only saw him a couple hours a day it was fine. But believe me; it was difficult to live with him. However, it was a pleasure. That is why I am not sad that I killed him. He was difficult to live with, yes, but, believe me when I tell you that I know my brother did not mean to be a nuisance.
So, the seventeenth of June was the day I decided I would kill my brother, as I have said. It was ten o’clock on the twentieth of June when I called his wife to tell her the lie. For those pedantically minded amongst you, the lie was as follows: “There has been a crash on Providence Street. Right next to Little Limestone Creek.” You see, my brother’s wife is a journalist and that got her out of the house instantly.
The lie was perfect as, unknown to me; there had actually been a crash on Providence Street. It was not a large crash if I remember correctly, but large enough to keep her out of the house for long enough for me to do the
I remember the day vividly; it was meticulously planned. The lie to get his wife out of the house was perfect. And I am glad it worked. If it had not have worked I would not have been able to kill him. The seventeenth of June was the day I decided I was going to do it. That day was both the worst day of my life and the best day of my life.
The seventeenth of June was an arid, parched day on which the sun …show more content…
His behavior at school always reflected badly on me. He was a disgrace to our name: he was always in trouble at school for making opprobrious remarks about his teachers. He was a greatly obstreperous youngster. But he was just misunderstood.
No matter how hard he pushed me away I was always there for him. He broke so many hearts when he ran away from home and ended up in jail for drug crimes. He was misguided and always took the blame for people. He was never the most mentally gifted person: he always took the blame because he wanted people to like him.
Steven was twenty-two when I killed him. Our parents died in a car crash twelve years before and my brother came to live with me. Some drunk-driver driving at a reckless speed lost control of the car and smashed into the side of them. The engine exploded instantly and killed them both – and the drunk driver, of course, survived. There is no justice. He was ten and I was …show more content…
And I did. I took care of him for eight years until he married that woman – and she certainly did not take care of him. She didn’t really understand him. You see, Steven was an amazing person, but living with him was difficult. If you only saw him a couple hours a day it was fine. But believe me; it was difficult to live with him. However, it was a pleasure. That is why I am not sad that I killed him. He was difficult to live with, yes, but, believe me when I tell you that I know my brother did not mean to be a nuisance.
So, the seventeenth of June was the day I decided I would kill my brother, as I have said. It was ten o’clock on the twentieth of June when I called his wife to tell her the lie. For those pedantically minded amongst you, the lie was as follows: “There has been a crash on Providence Street. Right next to Little Limestone Creek.” You see, my brother’s wife is a journalist and that got her out of the house instantly.
The lie was perfect as, unknown to me; there had actually been a crash on Providence Street. It was not a large crash if I remember correctly, but large enough to keep her out of the house for long enough for me to do the