I Killed Me.
I looked at myself dying. It was an odd feeling, seeing oneself die. Gasping for air with a pool of blood forming underneath me. I should note at this time that by myself I mean my twin brother.
We shared everything, friends, clothes, food, homework, apartments, girlfriends, even death. As I watched the mirror image of myself — the same person who knew what I was thinking, could finish my sentences and knew when I was sad or upset even when we were separated by states — die, I could feel the sadness in him. The hurt in his eyes swept my heart with deep empathy. I began to weep.
Even in death, he could not be angry with me, he could not move his eyes to hate. I shot him, point blank, three times in the chest. I grew tired of being one-half of a whole. The other in a pair. No one bothered to ask if I wanted to be a pair. I didn’t. I hate sharing, why share when you can have it all to yourself. But no one would let me, especially not him. It was us against the world, he said. It was me against him. But his resolve for this bond was herculean.
I steal his best friend, he doesn’t notice. I wear his clothes, he jokes, say they look better on me. I throw away his food before he eats it, he wasn’t hungry anyway. I take his homework, he started making copies for me. I move in his apartment, don’t ask, just show up with boxes. I live there rent free with no job for two years, he never complains. I fuck his girlfriend, he thanks me for showing him she couldn’t be trusted. I shoot him and he says he forgives me. He, will, not, hate me… like I do him.
I stood over myself, gun in hand, tears running down my cheeks, feeling an emptiness grow in me I knew would be void forever because in those last few moments I realized I was watching the best part of me die.
