Brothers

There were two brothers. They dressed up and played games. There were role-playing games: the blues brothers, the ghostbusters, cops-n-robbers, and Batman and Robin. There were experimental games: can you lift the heavy stones and throw them high into the air overhead? can you paint the entire surface of the wall with the contents of a single bowel movement? And there were non-consensual games: that apple juice is now mine, or, sometimes for the sake of variation, that apple juice is no longer yours.

A lifetime of whining and laughter was poured into a great funnel. The width of that imperfect bowl eclipsed a proper view of what received this mass of life experience. It might have just dribbled onto the ground.

There were two brothers, always bickering over property, unhappy with their lot, and mutually ashamed of what they shared and what they envied in one another. One would only be Batman, the other would crush spiders under his knuckles. One would go on to athletic bulk, the other to drown in paper.

And still they're so young!