The Worst Day Of My Life Essay

1176 Words Jan 24th, 2016 5 Pages
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 scorched the land. I lived alone. I had no-one to talk to about my emotions that bubbled every time I thought of my brother, and boiled every time I saw him.

I remember him as a child; he was petulant and impetuous. 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…

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