The House of the twin-short story written by me.

mother always rocked two years sometimes fourth

The house of the twins was made by me and if someone wakes up at the fish plagiarism

Seriously



He was a regular guy, nothing more than a normal person.

Me and my brother lived with our mother and stepfather, were twins, were half the other, "my mother never had any kind gesture towards us, since our stepfather monotia invaded our lives.
My brother ... well, he always despised the man, he said that the man who came home from the darkness, we had taken our mother.

One more day of summer heat, sweating my brother came to me, terrified. He said he had been arguing and quarreling, said he intended to intervene, but to the desperate cries of his mother, was stunned and unable to close.

That same night, said something that scared me.
"We should end the ordeal of mother and rip the filthy bastard life.
I said nothing, pretending not to have heard.

A week after this incident, my mother and her husband separated, what I sensed as a relief. How wrong I was.

On warm nights, we listened to our dear mother mourn-a cry that broke our hearts, with the bruised eye.
-Arranquemosle life - I told my brother, sure my words.
That night, we went quietly from the house, and drove the car with the gun he kept mum in the kitchen. I took it.

Upon arriving at the subject's home I felt as if it were a flood, an absolute euphoria, vast and diabolical. On the verge of collapsing in the hot, I took my brother's arm, and said hoarsely, weak:
"No, stop.
- What you say?
I knew I had to stop, or would end up regretting forever.
"We must go, this is out of control and I will not regret if I bring you home by force, but if you kill a man.
"But we're so close, do not be dismayed now!
"Let's go now ...
I finished dragging in my car.

Nine nights passed until, in the tenth night, we received a call from the police, announcing that the ex-husband of my mother had been killed with a firearm, and that we should go to interrogation. Upon arrival of Commissioner, I sat on a couch in the living room and did nothing for more than three hours, meditating.
The deepest breath I could, and calmly, I walked to the library, where my brother was supposed to.
"It was him - I thought aloud, could not be him, and I will see now.

Upon entering the library, I found a lifeless body face down on the floor, awash in fresh blood. I approached, I turned and, as feared, it was my mother. With anger and confusion in the mind, I walked upstairs to find my brother.
He had the gun in his mother's hands, with the barrel toward his head, and weeping eyes that touched her cheeks and die on your feet.
"" I just killed her in a tiny voice, killed them both. Beast! Demon! You do not look like me, I'm not like you!
He pulled the trigger, ending his pain and spotting my consciousness even more.

I, now crying, I took the gun from his bloodied fingers, closed my eyes, and pointed the gun at my forehead.

And fired the gun.


Rafael Aviles F.



Please critique and comment. Thanks.