Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ In The World In My Head ❯ In The World In My Head ( One-Shot )

I was eight years old when I first killed my brother. I didn't mean to; at least, I didn't mean for the second person I killed to be him. I was saving him for good spot, like a hundred or a thousand. But he walked in right after the first one, some stupid knight waving around a big sword, and I just reacted. I felt really bad. For a while I didn't even fight anybody, but that didn't last long. Soon I stopped letting people escape. Right about then my brother, Eric, showed up and I had to kill him again. This probably happened like four or five times before anybody figured out what was going on. That's when I came here.

 

 

Eric is the only one who still knocks. Everyone else just comes in. At least they know I'm not going to answer.

 

 

“Hail and well met!” I roll over, hoping he'd figure out I'm trying to ignore him. “Aw, come on Ari! I even said it right this time!” I wonder if he has any idea how much I don't want to kill him again? He sighs loudly. “Well at least you didn't throw your tray at me…” After a while I hear the ugly chair next to my bed squeak. It does that when someone sits down. “So you're really not gonna talk to me?”

 

 

“I can't. You're dead. They'll think I'm crazy.”

 

 

There's this little smile he has whenever I say something like that, and that's usually when I kill him. But I'm really trying hard this time. I'm really trying to get better. Once I'm better I can go back to my real bedroom, where they don't have cameras always watching you and where people don't talk like you're stupid. Best of all, they say once I'm better Eric'll stop dying.

 

 

“You really don't do a good job, ya know.” He winks and whispers so only I can hear. “I resurrected myself again. You're gonna have to figure out how to stop me before you can kill me for good.”

 

 

I don't even bother to glare or yell anymore. He never tells me how he does it. He's afraid of me.

 

 

“So, how'd ya do it this time huh?”

 

 

“You were there.”

 

 

“But I forgot. Come on Runt-ess.” He pokes me in the head. He doesn't notice that I have to bite my finger to remind myself to be good. “I know you want to…”

 

 

“I tied you to a post and hammered a nail into your throat. You drowned.”

 

 

“Oh.” He winces and brushes his hair back out of his eyes. “Right. Uh…can't believe I forgot.” He picks up Sir Henry and starts messing with his ears, staring down at him like he's never seen a bear before. When he runs out of stuff to look at he starts moving around the other toys. “Looks like you got everything here. Just like home, huh?” I look over at the window, with its curvy, white bars, and the door with its big lock. He sees them too. “Uh… I mean, besides those…”

 

 

“I want my Knight Fighters.”

 

 

“Arienne…” He brushes his hair back and doesn't notice that it drops right back down where it came from. “You know you can't have that game. I mean, you know you get a little…uh…”

 

 

“You bring me everything else! Why not that one?” I don't know why I ask. Everybody thinks that Knight Fighters did it. They say I wasn't sick until I started playing. They say I think it's real. They don't get it. They don't get that I know it's just a game. But it's a game that's just like my real life. “Bring me Knight Fighters or I won't talk to you ever!” I roll back over to face the wall so he knows I really mean it this time.

 

 

He doesn't say anything more until the fat lady with the needles comes. She sticks me once and I pretend to go to sleep. If I don't then she'll stick me again. They talk quietly, like they're not sure if I'm awake or not.

 

 

“I mean, she didn't write anything this time. And she didn't keep saying that she was a knight or something. So she's getting better right? It's a good thing right? I mean, she usually writes…”

 

 

The fat lady has a calm voice she uses a lot around me. She talks so I can hardly hear. “…too soon to tell …her mind…delicate state…” I don't try really hard to listen. She's not really important.

 

 

“Yeah, okay.” He glances over at me and sighs. “Right. See ya next week nurse.”

I wait until they're gone before I pull my diary from under my pillow. It's bright green and shiny and there's a big, fat crayon that smells like green Jell-O that goes with it. I think my brother brought it for me. It's my favorite, and I always write everything that happens in there. I start to remember, and then I start to write. I remember the blood, thick and black, pouring from his chest. I remember his eyes turning cloudy-white and vacant. I remember fanning away the big brown flies trying to slip inside his nose and mouth. I remember that I killed my brother again.