Verbal Magazine

A Settling Storm

The sky outside was darkening, even though it was only late afternoon, and a chilly breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lining the street. But inside one of the large, comfortable houses a fire was blazing in the hearth, extinguishing the cold that winter brought and filling the house with a cosy warmth. 

I was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, patiently doing my homework, for even work, at this time of year, seemed tolerable.
An eerie calm was floating through the house, for only my mother and I were present. She was down the hallway, preparing dinner and my father was at work. My brother and sister, being older than me, were still at school.
The patter of rain caused me to wearily lift my head and glance outside. For a few minutes I watched the rain make its tracks along the glass, until my eyes were drawn to the rather less pleasant sight of my siblings rounding the corner of our driveway and making their way towards the house.
I bowed my head and sighed resolutely, before beginning to pack up my things, for I knew, no more work would get done if he was home.
Before I had a chance to leave the room, however, I heard the turn of the key in the door, and I hurried to the sofa, trying to look as though I was not about to run away from him.
My brother waltzed into the room, massaging his neck, as though he had the weight of the world upon his shoulders. My sister followed closely behind.
The latter walked over and sat beside me, while my brother took the single seat opposite. He continued to strain his neck and out of the corner of my eye, I could see him watching me: he was practically begging for me to comment. We sat in silence for a long time, before I grew impatient.
“What’s wrong with you?” I demanded, with as much venom as I could muster. I knew I should have controlled myself, but the longer he sat there, the more I wanted an argument.
My brother looked slightly put out, but I could already see his head spinning, searching for a clever retort.
“Maybe if you went to a proper school, you’d understand.” He shot back.
My brother knew me well, I thought savagely. He had reverted to his favourite tactic of making me feel inferior. Being the youngest I constantly felt the need to prove myself and not be looked down upon. Had it not have been for this, I am sure I would have left the argument then.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, in a threatening whisper, barely audible over the volume of the increasingly heavy rain.
“You know what it means.” He said in a tone too casual for the situation, and I knew, he was struggling to keep the anger out of his voice as well.
As I raised my eye brows in question, my heart thudding violently in anger, the rain began pounding against the windows, shaking the whole house, from foundations to roof.
“If you don’t realize”, he said in a taunting, sing-song voice, “it means all you do all day is play hop-scotch and skipping and maybe when you get to a real school, you will understand”.
The tone of his voice came down as the sentence wore on and I suddenly did not know what came over me. My brother had riled me before, but today, I had had enough.
Somewhere in the distance lightning cracked through the sky and I jumped up. I felt my sister’s hand over my arm, but I pulled myself free.
Forgetting that I was five years younger, forgetting that I was half his weight and forgetting that he was in the rugby team, I launched myself at my brother.
Not being as stupid as he looks, my brother quickly jumped up. I was barely a foot away from his chair and did not have time to stop – I crashed head first into the back of the seat.
Hastily, I straightened up and whirled around, looking for my brother, before I felt warmth trickle down my lip and tasted the salty taste of blood: my nose was bleeding.
I resigned myself to the fact that our fight would have to wait, and sat back down on the sofa, while my sister hurried out of the room, calling for my mother.
I held my head up, fruitlessly attempting to stop the flow of blood, when my mother arrived and shoved a pile of tissues under my nose. I sat for a long time, willing the flow to stop, but it carried on.
I did not realise that my father had arrived, but I could hear his voice. My brother and sister were both out of my vision, but I could hear their voices too.
My mother put a hand under my arm and my father quickly supported the other one, planning to lead me to the bathroom.
I stood up and suddenly realised how weak and dizzy I felt. Staggering to the door, I caught a glimpse of my siblings’ worried faces and was surprised to see my brother looking pale and panicked. I could not imagine that I looked any better.
As I walked down the hallway it seemed to stretch to an unimaginable length and the walls started closing in around me. The bathroom, facing me, seems a hundred miles away and I know I will not make it.
My legs begin to tremble uncontrollably and my eyes close of their own accord. I realise my legs have given up when I feel a sharp pain in my knees, and the unmistakable thud of something hitting the floor.
I catch snatches of my mother’s panicked voice, or was it my father’s? What does it matter now? All that is important is the dense fog threatening to cloud out my senses and the fact that the darkness, which I had been holding off, has started to envelop my brain.
An unnatural chill settles itself around me, crawling under my skin and flowing through my veins. I want to scream, but find myself unable.
The fog inside me was almost palpable and I know that my attempts at resistance are futile.
My last thought, before sinking into the consuming darkness, is that dying would be so much easier, if only I had made things up with my brother…
My eyes flicker open and I panic. I quickly sit up and find myself in pitch darkness. There are beds surrounding me and there is a light on outside a door. I realise I am in hospital as I listen to the voices outside the door.
“…lost too much blood.”
“And you’ll just be keeping her overnight?” I hear my mother’s shaken voice.
“Just to make sure. You should really get something to eat and so should your son. He’s been with her since we brought her in.”
I quickly whipped my head around and see my brother sleeping in a chair beside my bed. His face is lit up from the glow of a streetlamp just outside the window, but he does not notice. His head is lolling on its side and his mouth is open slightly.
Staring ruminatively out of the window, listening to my brother’s deep, rhythmic breathing, I realise that the storm has stopped and everything is calm.
I reflect back upon my last thought, before I thought I was dying, and know that the storm between my brother and I has calmed somewhat as well.

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