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Him


            I am crouching over my computer keyboard. My fingers are jabbing away nervously at the keys only for the idea in my head to be washed away like a shell in a wave. A tear is rolling down my hot cheeks. As it reaches my lips I suck it up. The bitter taste filters through my body. The sight of the screen in front of me portrays my blank state of mind. The fear of my mother's disappointed face and father's stern gaze was all that fuelled me to keep seated. .
             In my younger years I always marveled at the way my older brother had the ability to write continuously on the most boring topics and water them in to a beautiful garden full of language and poetry. He would be in the middle of a conversation when suddenly his eyes would freeze and would begin to mutter incoherent sentences. Staggering like a blind man he would demand for paper. After a quick scribble he would be back in your world as if his strange behavior never took place.
             Our relatives and friends shower constant praises at him. He is always in the spotlight of every family gathering while I am left watching from the shadows. When I am noticed I am referred to as "the brother". .
             In the beginning I felt proud that he was my brother, but slowly pride melted to fear. Fear that I could never be an award-winning student. . Fear that I could never look up to my parents face and receive the smile that was reserved only for him. Like all fears this needs to be fought. Except this battle never ends. .
            


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