Eight years old.
Silas
“Ungrateful children don’t deserve beds.
” Mother’s voice jolts me awake as she grips my arm by force, yanking me out of my bed.
My eyes find Sage’s sleep-filled gaze, locking with mine.
A silent pact is formed between us for her not to say anything.
She needs to let me take the punishment.
There’s no arguing when Mother is like that.
I can take it. She needs to stay quiet. Let me bear it. I can do it.
Mother is right about that. I am the stronger twin.
The one who’s built to carry us through the suffering.
Twins have a special bond—that’s what Mother has always said—and part of it is the need to protect one another.
But Sage is small and fragile, and I can bear more of it.
We share everything, even the punishments.
“Please, you are hurting me.” I try to reason with her anyway, even though I know I can’t avoid this. I know it’s better than Sage having to endure this punishment instead, even if she did the crime. I have to stay quiet. Let her carry on with what’s about to happen. There’s no way to avoid it.
I know exactly what has made our Mother so angry tonight.
She has found the pieces of the broken plate Sage smashed on the floor earlier while doing the dishes.
It was her turn to do the dishes, but she can barely reach the sink, and the stool isn’t steady enough to support her weight anymore.
She can barely keep her balance on it. It’s a plastic one that’s meant for smaller kids, maybe between the ages of two and five.
Sage, at eight years old, even if she is still thinner than she should be, is still bigger than a five year old kid.
I don’t have this problem. I am taller and able to reach the sink now.
Mother says that sometimes twins grow differently.
Faster than the other one. She says it’s a sign.
I will be a strong man, and strong men take responsibility for their mistakes.
“Mother, please, he didn’t do anything.” Sage’s soft voice comes from behind us as we reach the stairs of the basement.
I try to find a way to distract Mother before she takes her anger out on Sage, but I fail to be fast enough before she turns and slaps Sage across the face.
My sister falls to the ground, her shoulder colliding with the wall behind her.
I see her flinch on impact, and I know it’s the same shoulder Mother caused her to dislocate when she threw her down the basement stairs last month.
It still hasn’t healed, and if she keeps hurting it, I doubt it will.
I had to sneak into the basement that night and help her pop it back in place when Mother had fallen asleep.
I want to ask Sage if she is okay, but that will make Mother angrier, and I already know what’s coming.
She grips my arm again and turns the key on the basement door to unlock it.
She opens it and motions to me to move. I slowly go down the stairs, and she follows, leaving Sage still on the floor.
When we are almost completely down, I hear steps from the floor above us, and I know Sage has run back into her bed.
That’s good. Mother will probably forget about her until the morning.
She takes the key from her pocket and unlocks the iron closet—one of those closets meant to store garden tools and other stuff like that.
But instead of tools, this closet is completely bare inside.
No shelves or tools. Just the iron frame and a space that barely fits me anymore. Mother stares down at me, waiting.
“Go on. You know what to do.” I don’t argue. I can’t argue.
She won’t listen to me anyway. And if I do, Sage will be in my place before I can figure out a new plan to save her.
She is afraid of the closet; the small space has always been the reason for her nightmares.
I can bear it so she doesn’t have to. I take a deep breath and crawl into the closet.
Mother locks it before I can even settle inside, and I curl myself in the corner.
My back presses against the iron frame of the closet, and I bring my knees to my chest, hugging them before I place my head on them.
Mother’s footsteps creep in through the door as she walks up the stairs until I hear the sound of the locking door. The moment I know I am completely alone, I let myself go. Tears stream down my eyes. I am completely alone.