-Preface-

This story is something that I have indeed heard say from others does happen when you are young and feel introverted or sidelined into the shadows by the society or family who surrounds you. Of course, I believe that it would not in the usual circumstances be as dramatic or rather quite as striking in such a way as this story is, nor would it appear to be quite so dramatic or as much unsettling.

My companions and I have discussed this subject on a small number of occasions whilst partaking in eating our lunches or perhaps swinging on a local swing set that one or two of us found one lazy summer afternoon, during the six weeks of break that we receive from our school at the end of each grueling year.

Out of all my acquaintances, however, more than a few of them had agreed that they, had, undeniably at one point during their lives, glanced upon the thought of being an only child; a life without the ever tedious encumbrance of an elder brother or sister, forever amplifying their efforts in everything they do in hope that it will catch their parents approval and for a brief moment it will seem as though it is only you who have a claim on their time, no brother and no sister.

I myself have never experienced such a feeling; being an only child for all my life. I sometimes gaze at families whilst on an outing, clandestinely wondering what it would feel like to have a sibling alongside my parents and myself. I suppose it wouldn’t feel any different at all if you had had a brother or sister all your life, perhaps indeed those children with siblings speculate a life free of brotherly or sisterly torments, perhaps they even look at me with jealous despising in their eyes. I do not know, for I do not question the strangers...

This tale of desperation and illusion of thought is dedicated to each and every one of my friends who live each day with elder siblings. I would take my hat off to you of course, if I was wearing one. I will never understand the bewildering competition that is sibling rivalry and therefore this tale comes from all the amusing stories that have been thrust upon my sympathetic ears.

Yours Sincerely,
Savannah x



07/07/09






- Confessions of a Sadist -


Another pair of the many sickening people walked through the door that night; and Rupert ostracized each and every one of them. They kissed and hugged his mother who blushed and smiled, they shook hands with his father who nodded formally, and they congratulated his brother with beautiful gifts and open ended questions which he answered smugly.

But no one, despite the celebratory atmosphere, came to Rupert. Not one of the hundreds of guests came to bestow upon him any compliments or offer any kind of respite company to the silently watching little boy in the shadowy corner of the room. But frankly Rupert did not care for the presence of these ghastly beasts whom he had come to know as his relatives in all his twelve years of existence, instead he preferred to watch them as they went about their false, complimentary business.

Rupert imagined being in control as his relative’s whisked rudely pass him without a second glance; their dresses and carrying the odor of that repellent liquid that his mother wore or the nauseating stench of wealth that he had come to know only too well.

He surreptitiously scrutinized each and every one of them, picking petit faults like flies off a piece of food; their outfits garish, their social manners hypocritical and although he did not notice, Rupert was self-consciously marking them on their efforts on ignoring him. “The inconsiderate fools, fancy them not noticing me...” He thought defiantly as his mother glided past him in her satin lilac dress; and expensive bottle of champagne held aloft as she approached a group of self-satisfied bastards!

Rupert was still glaring intently in the direction of the presently champagne drinking men and women when a young girl in a long green dress approached him with apparent caution. She couldn’t have been much older than twelve or thirteen and yet she had the face and the figure of a far more mature girl. Her black hair was wound up in a tight bun that pulled her brown eyes up towards her scalp in an innocent gesture; her skin was fair with a few dark freckles dotted across her delicately powdered nose and her lips were the deepest shade of crimson. She was certainly distinguishable from the other guests here.

“Rupert? Is that you?” when the girl spoke her voice was crisp and had a slight twinge of American which complimented her ‘fresh out of private school’ accent, with a textbook girlish pitch. Rupert turned on the spot so that his long red cloak that had been draped over him by a highly amused elder brother billowed out. “Yes.” He replied curtly. Rupert rarely communicated with others and this resulted in a slight albeit unknowing tint in his social skills. The girl smiled radiantly, showing her beautifully inline and crystal white teeth. She held out her hand, waiting for Rupert to take it, but he did not. “I’m Emily,” she smiled again undeterred at Rupert who merely shrugged and turned his back on her. “I used to visit.” She added, grabbing hold of his shoulder, refusing to be brushed aside.

Rupert shuddered, a chill vibrating down his back, his face screwed up in anguish with the sudden body contact made with this girl, who unfortunately felt that she was allowed to touch him. In honest truth, Rupert allowed no one to make any kind of physical or emotional contact with him; even when he was younger he disliked the way his unusually aged mother clung to him as though he was some kind of pathetically dismal teddy bear; her wiry grey hair irritating his pale skin and her heavily perfumed scent hardly masking the smell that was classically recognized as 'old person' smell. An overwhelming smell of talcum powder, urine and aged mothballs. Her very touch repulsed him to the very core.

The room was not cold; in fact it was rather warm. The great number of people, all of whom were showing signs of feeling the heat, had unmistakably warmed up the room temperature with satisfactory speed because of their desire for dancing and drinking. The room now had carried a lingering odor of stale or spirit alcohol mixed with sweat which was making Rupert decidedly nauseous. In actuality, it seemed that Rupert was the only one who wasn't enjoying the festivities; in fact he was feeling unusually cold. It could have been perceived by any observant onlooker that it wasn't just Emily that had made Rupert shudder, but rather the atmosphere in which he was stood. It was evident that Rupert was not enjoying himself and neither did he intend to try, he was still stood in the far corner, but now he was accompanied by Emily who looked rather disappointed by the length of their abrupt conversation and was now surveying the scene in front of her with rather more interest than she would perhaps allowed herself. Her hands hung by her side, occasionally she would sigh deeply and begin to pick uneasily at one of her nails, before realising where she was; at which point she would cease and continue to look bored.

The cold seemed to be radiating out of Rupert, so much in fact that even Emily began to shiver, she buried her hands into her dress, crinkling it and achieving a look that was highly un-lady like, then she would remove them and allow them to fall limply by her side again, mindful of her position and social etiquette.

Rupert, who seemed to have forgotten who she was or the fact that Emily was even present sighed and glanced bitterly over at his brother who was now surrounded by a crowd of pretty girls all of whom seemed to be swooning and laughing at, what were in Rupert's opinion, highly substandard jokes. His brother, Russell seemed to by contrast be enjoying himself a little too much for Rupert's liking, so much so in fact that Rupert actually decided to go over with the sole intention of breaking up the group. He had adjusted his clothes, "I may not like these people, but after all I am a boy of high society and therefore I must present myself in the appropriate manner" he thought whilst doing so, when again, Emily reached for his shoulder and pulled him back to the corner.

"Yes?" asked an irritable Rupert. By now, he was disinterested in Emily and her little affected accent, so he took no care to be polite or well-mannered and instead adopted a rather more offensive and harsh tone, intended to dismiss. A tone that didn't seem to go down well with Emily.  

"Don't you know it's rude to leave a lady by herself?" she gave Rupert a piercing glare, one almost worthy of Rupert himself. He smiled to himself, his admiration for this girl growing unexpectedly.

Unexpectedly, Rupert's mother was spied marching up towards him and Emily, a broad smile plastered over her heavily make-upped face. She seemed to recognise Emily and Emily likewise.
Emily bowed graciously and then dashed to hug her, much to Rupert's shock.

"Rupert! I see you've met Emily-Jane!" she called, releasing Emily and embracing her son.

Rupert shuddered once again; he held his breath and only breathed freely again once he was freed of the terrible embrace. His mother continued oblivious to the slight to look at him with the usual look of expectance and Rupert nodded and muttered under his breath.

"Yes, Emily here used to come and play with you all the time!" continued Rupert's mother, completely ignoring the fact that Rupert had just spoke. "Emily doesn’t have any brothers or sisters to play with," she turned to Emily who blushed deeply, ruining her pallid and ghostly complexion, "Emily, isn't that right Dear?"

Emily nodded more slightly now. Her voice seemed to have been taken by the arrival of Rupert's mother; she gazed fixedly at Rupert, who despite his usual harsh ways felt a gush of sincere guilt and sympathy for her. Rupert's mother didn't seem to have realised the sudden icy atmosphere surrounding them but rather continued to talk to the slowly shrinking Emily. "How's your father doing?" she continued, grasping Emily's hands tightly in her own, "I always felt for him. No son to take over his business when he's gone..." she seemed to be addressing nobody but herself at this point, her voice trailed off and she gazed deeply into Emily's eyes as if pondering the possibilities she presented.

"Um, he's rather well, thank you." replied Emily. Her answer was hesitant and a little shaky, but no one noticed, instead Rupert's mother smiled.

"Good. He was always very fond of Rupert, here." she released Emily and now it was Rupert's turn. "Rupert, dear, you always did love playing with Emily when you were younger." Rupert smiled modestly, feeling awkward and wishing fervently that Emily would look somewhere else other than at his face. "Yes, I don't know what it was that intrigued you about her; perhaps it was because she was a girl." She turned to Emily again, "I sometimes wish that I had a daughter, it gets very tiresome having three sons." She sighed resignedly once more.

"Oh, yes I absolutely agree." Emily nodded quickly, making her bun jiggle rather amusingly, but by now, Rupert wasn't feeling very hospitable or kindly towards anyone. So, his mother wished that she had had a daughter instead of him, did she? It was typical of course for people to wish that Rupert was somebody else other than who he actually was, but to pine for a girl gave a whole new perspective! He glared angrily at his mother from behind her back.

"Well, I had better get going." Called his mother's voice continuing despite her son’s obvious resentment. Rupert wasn't listening though. He was rerunning the conversation he had just heard. Emily used to come to his house when he was little, she didn't have any brothers and sisters, and she seemed to be afraid of his mother. Perhaps she wasn't as bad as he thought she was!

He listened to Emily say a gracious goodbye to his mother, received a rather hard pat on his head and then was once again, alone with Emily and his own malicious thought. For a few moments there was silence, neither child seemed to know what to say to the other, Emily continued her previous habit of swinging her arms and Rupert regained his position of looking darkly across the room at the now, slowly tiring but contented group of guests, most of whom had now found a seat and were watching either Russell or the remaining dancers enjoy what was left of the evening.

Rupert glanced curiously over at Emily who grimaced and sighed. "Rupert, I think I should maybe go and find my parents." she smiled, but it was a different smile from the one she had granted him previously. It was warmer, and seemed more sincere as if she understood his silent suffering. "We only came to drop off some gifts my mother had wrapped for Russell." She fell silent, waiting for Rupert to at least say goodbye, but she was to be disappointed. "Rupert?" she noticed how Rupert was still looking with pure animosity at his mother. "She didn't mean what she said; I bet she's really proud of you."

"If that’s true, then why didn't she come and talk to me before you came?" Rupert's voice seemed surprisingly a lot softer than usual. His mind was whirring, his thoughts confused and mixed. "If she really doesn’t mean it, then why did it take another person to get her to acknowledge the fact that I was stood here?" he rambled incoherently to himself.

Emily didn't reply. She was transfixed; Rupert's attitude had suddenly changed. He seemed to be colder somehow, but at the same time he seemed to have been broken as if his stern exterior had been shattered leaving no defenses behind. Perhaps, despite his hard outer shell, Rupert was simply a lonely little boy who just craved the attention of others; perhaps he wasn't as mean as his face looked and suggested.

"Why is it that my brothers achieve, and yet I am left to wallow in my forever burdening failure?" Rupert thought. Of course, he didn't speak is word; it would show his weak spot, his desire for praise. No, he secretly wished that he was one of the over-achieving sons, and that somebody else was little, failing Rupert Riley...





-----





Rupert was awoken by the sound of strong winds and heavy rain lashing against the window beside his wooden bed. His first movement of the day was to roll groggily over onto his left side rather irritably, grope wearily for the wooden window pole and close the green shutters, thus blocking the pastel coloured early morning light from his room.

The room fell into its usual state of darkness again and the previous silence resumed as Rupert drifted into a rather less comfortable sleep. The wind continued to howl through the shutters, bringing with it an unpleasant icy wind that was ruffling Rupert’s brown hair lightly as if taunting him with prodding fingers. The rain struck the windows, giving an impression of someone rapping their long fingernails against the glass, their face concealed by the shutters and yet their eyes seemed to pierce the wood which separated them from the sleeping boy on the other side. They pulled at the shutters, making them rattle harshly, so much so that they seemed to be splitting down the middle, bringing the wall with it, and hearing a voice which Rupert recognised as Emily’s he fearfully pulled his quilt above his head, not wanting to be seen or caught by this terrifying monster that had just ripped his house straight down the middle perhaps diving the good from the bad. The rain was still pouring down and by now Rupert’s quilt was drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, despite the cover’s protection his lifelike dream threatened to encompass and drown him…

Rupert awoke abruptly; his breath exhaling in little pants so he sounded rather like he had just run a long marathon instead of lying in his bed. The rain was still falling heavily outside, yet the wind seemed to have calmed a little since he last checked. He suddenly felt cold and wet and wondering where the dampness could be coming from, he glanced down at the cotton sheet below himself. It was wet.

He couldn’t believe it. “It’s something that babies do.” He reprimanded himself furiously whilst pulling the sheet off the bed. He crumpled it up into a rather large ball, which he then stuffed into the corner, all the while listening to the other rooms on the corridor. If his brothers found out about this, he was sure to be in for a lot of teasing and his humiliation would be complete. After assuring himself that there was nobody awake yet, Rupert opened his door and crept through it. Next door he could hear Russell snoring loudly; obviously the effects of the alcohol hadn’t worn off just yet. Satisfied, he continued down the corridor, past his parent’s room which was completely silent except for the occasional little snort from his father, and finally reached the little laundry room where his mother kept all the dirty washing, in baskets that were piled high.

Being careful not to make any substantial amount of noise, Rupert blushingly emptied the nearest washing board and shoved the sheet onto it, leaving it hanging there, hoping that his mother would just wash it without checking its reason for being there. He paused for a moment, ensuring that his business was not interrupting anyone’s sleep. Then, he gently turned the knob on the door and exited the draughty room.

He remained watching outside the room for a few minutes, contemplating whether or not he should wash the sheet himself, despite the fact that he had never done anything quite so demanding before, until his stomach grumbled rather loudly and he determined to go and search his room for any remaining scraps of neglected food which he may have forgotten about. Rupert didn’t dare go downstairs into the kitchen, he knew all too well what his mother would do if she found him rummaging through her precious food supplies. Yes, he would be locked up in his room, without the privilege of sumptuous food he was used to and left to eat canned soup and all the other disgusting provisions which were kept at the back of each cupboard for any such eventuality.

Back in his room Rupert was lying on his back, his head out of sight and underneath the bottom of his bed where he often stored spare food. He pulled back a bundle of old socks; which had apparently been long forgotten by the look and smell of them and found an old plate upon which sat a little plastic bag full of liquorice. Rupert remembered this liquorice well, he had been allowed for the first time in all his life to go and buy some sweets, he came home with this bag and after discovering that the taste wasn’t highly desirable he had flung the bag distastefully across the room, where it had rolled beneath his bed as neglected as he himself often felt.

“Well,” Rupert sighed as he opened the bag and sniffed them, only to discover that they smelled just as disgusting as the day he had bought them, “desperate times call for desperate measures.” Before he popped a small stick into his mouth and began chewing. Already the flavour was knocking him sick, the strange and fiery taste reared in his mouth, catching in the back of his throat and making him heave. He spat it out into the bag where the saliva soaked sweet slid down the clear plastic of the side and mingled itself among the other pieces. Rupert spat once more into the bag, just to ensure that all of the atrocious taste had been obliterated and then he tied the bag up with a swift knot and tossed it back under his bed to rot away.

Feeling rather sick from his last taste, Rupert decided to be a little more cautious of what placed in to his mouth, especially if it had come from beneath his bed. Once again, he crouched and poked his head into the dusty space below, only this time it wasn’t food that caught his eye. Something shiny and silver caught the shafted light that had managed to creep its way through the shutters. Rupert pushed himself deeper into the space and pulled out a small leather-bound book. Realising that it would be foolish to read it beneath his bed, Rupert scrambled up to his desk and laid the book on top where he began to examine it in the dim light. It was a small, A2 leather book. The sliver clasp was the thing that had evidently caught Rupert’s eye; it swung round rather agreeably to the other side of the book where it could be fastened to a little hook, upon which hung a little golden key that swung from side to side when the book was shaken. Inside, there was nothing written, no dates, no appointments, no nothing. Instead, Rupert found himself looking at a large quantity of yellowing and aged pages, a few of which had been bent or dripped on presumably from liquids falling from above. Upon turning the book over so it was now lying on its face there was a little date stamped on the bottom in small lettering and on the very back page there was a little message written in blue ink, although it had faded greatly over the years and had somehow become smudged so now it was almost impossible to make out what it said.

After a little more close scrutiny Rupert decided to keep the book, after all, what possible need could his brothers have for a book as fine as this? He opened the first page and after scrambling around in the draw to the left of him he found a lavish looking fountain pen, hesitating for a moment, contemplating what might happen if his brothers found all his thoughts and feelings just lying on his bedroom floor, Rupert decided to take the risk, to write the date and then began to write his own personal memoires; being careful all the while not to write anything that might just give away his emotions. He wrote:




September 4th 1938

Dear Diary,
It seems strange to be writing in a book. Usually I would find this peculiar, but since I found this under my bed, I figured it must have been mine at some point and have hereby decided to write from here onward in this little brown book.

I just found some liquorice, secreted under my bed to and as predictable, it tastes rather foul and I hope that I never have to swallow such a vile sweet ever again. I left it under my bed again however; hopefully the cat might find and partake of it, just so I don’t have to.

Rupert paused, looking down with satisfaction at the page before him. He waited for the blotchy black ink to dry and then closed the book firmly, fastening the little latch with the gold key which he then deposited in a little glass bottle that used to contain a drink of some sort. He placed the bottle at the back of the draw and laid the book just behind, praying that no one would find it.

-----


“Rupert.” A pause in which only the sound of chinking glasses and the scraping of chairs upon the kitchen wooden floor could be audible. “Rupert.” The voice was louder this time, a little more demanding.

Rupert looked up from his toast and gazed unthinkingly into his mother’s stern eyes. In honest truth, he hadn’t been taking much interest in his soggy, overly buttered toast; instead he had been deeply immerged in his thoughts about the little brown book upstairs.  

Unfortunately, it had been left well alone since his first entry; recently it seemed that it was impossible to gain a moment of peace and quiet in the house, especially since his elder brother Russell had been accepted into University. All that it ever seemed to be discussed or carried out was going and buying new clothes, new stationary, and the only time Rupert was ever called in as part of the family preparations, was when something had gone wrong and they needed him to go and fix it.

Dreading what his mother could possibly want him to do; he checked his little watch, 8:30 in the morning! Rupert blinked in acknowledgement to show his mother that she had his attention, regardless of how unwillingly it may be bestowed.

“Rupert, sit up straight.” Rupert obliged, his back suddenly touching the cold wood chair. “That’s better. Now, Russell and I will be nipping out in a little while.” She turned to Russell who was currently shoving food unceremoniously in his mouth and then turned back to Rupert, “That means that Isaac will be in charge.”

Rupert’s heart plummeted in despair; Isaac was the middle child of the three boys and perhaps the most terrible. From behind his mother’s slim frame he saw Isaac snigger appreciatively, his hand hiding a sly smile which could not conceal the mischief he had lined up for their following departure.

“While I’m out I would like you and Isaac to gather up some of Russell’s socks from his room. You can just leave them outside the bedroom door. I’ll collect them once I’m back.”

Russell finished eating and left with his mother fifteen minutes later, leaving Rupert and Isaac alone. Rupert’s father was out at work, as usual, therefore meaning that nobody could stop Isaac from carrying out whatever he had in store.

“Here’s the deal,” came Isaac’s predictable voice from behind Rupert, who jumped and turned swiftly on the spot. He knew what would come if he kept his back turned. “You’re going to find Russell’s socks, and I’m going to sit down here and wait.” He paused, perhaps during which he expected Rupert to complain or else find fault with the task at hand. But Rupert did not. He didn’t see the point anymore.

“If you’re not done in ten minutes, I’ll personally come upstairs, and ensure that you do it properly.” He stopped and looked Rupert right in the eyes, who flinched and looked away. “Do I make myself clear?” His voice menacing, his intention clear.

Rupert nodded. He was just about to leave the room and rush upstairs to find his brother’s socks when Isaac’s voice stopped him again, almost like an invisible boundary controlling his movements. “Oh, and if mother asks, we both did it, and if you dare tell her I didn’t do anything, I’ll lock you in the attic above your room.” His smug expression had manifested itself in his voice as well as his actions.


Rupert rushed up the steep flights of stairs to Russell’s room. He kicked open the door, only to have his breath dashed away. In front of him was what resembled a war zone. Clothes lay in untidy bundles on the floor; old bits of paper and rubbish were dotted across the carpet, magazines and books stood stacked all unsteadily in precautious piles and beyond all this he was supposed to find socks?

Hearing his brother’s voice downstairs telling him that he had just wasted three minutes, Rupert began rummaging furiously through his brother’s possessions. He found the first pair within seconds, only partially hidden by a book containing some strange looking language he recognized as Latin. Next he found another two pairs stuck together by some horrid looking solution that Rupert wasn’t too keen on identifying. Pulling them apart he found that there was another sock inside the first but this one didn’t have a matching partner. Realising that he was going to have to rush to find it before his brother exacted his revenge, Rupert dashed across the room, knocking over items as he went. He stripped the bed, and then after remaking it hurriedly, he heard Isaac’s footsteps coming up the stairs in an exaggerated movement. His breath becoming short and sharp he looked once again over the room, trying to take in every single item his mind could absorb. Over there. Rupert spotted the spare sock, it was lying only three feet away from him, he probably had time to grab it and then finish before Isaac reached him. Rupert, feeling a little more relaxed, reached for the sock, but inches away he felt a pair of sturdy arms pull him back in a cruel taunt.

He felt the ground spin around him as he was lifted up off the very ground upon which he stood, and was thrown onto his brother’s shoulder, where he screamed and kicked in protest, tiny tears prickling from his eyes in angry helplessness and injustice.

“I HAD IT! IT WAS JUST THERE!” screamed Rupert. His brother ignored him. “LET ME DOWN! LET ME DOWN!”

He was dropped suddenly onto the ground with a sickening bump, but was soon lifted again; he realised too late what was happening. He continued to thrash against Isaac’s hold, but he was defenseless and weak against him and he lost and was thrown into a dark space. The door was closed and darkness fell across Rupert.

“LET ME OUT!” cried Rupert angrily, tears now streaming down his thin face; he banged his fists against the door beneath him and screamed now even more desperately, “PLEASE! PLEASE LET ME OUT!” He began to kick his feet, attempting to perhaps kick the attic door wide open off its hinges, but then realised that he was moderately high above the ground, and if he was to fall without warning, he would be more likely to break his leg. He stopped and instead devoted his energy to listening; only making the occasional sniffling noise or a little cough brought on from his crying.

Below, he could hear Isaac ransacking his room. He heard his desk being tipped over, and for a fleeting moment he had a vision of Isaac finding his diary and filled with loathing dread felt his fear welling up once more. Finally he heard the door being slammed and he knew that Isaac had left the room.


-----


Rupert felt himself being lowered gently towards the ground a few hours later. He had continued to cry after Isaac had left and only after drifting into an uneasy sleep, did he cease. Rupert opened his eyes to find his father looking back quizzically at him. He did not say much but lowered Rupert into his bed and pulled the quilt over him, only pausing to say, “I washed your sheet.” In acknowledgement of his earlier crime.

Rupert had forgotten entirely about the sheet, but felt himself go red from embarrassment. His father tucked his quilt into his left side and stroked his dark hair gently. “You’re back in your bed now, okay?” Rupert nodded. It was rare for his father to speak, he always seemed to take a back seat and sit quietly whilst the siblings argued and fought, leaving the work  of discipline to his wife, rather than intervene himself. “Isaac said that you had somehow locked yourself in the attic.” He paused gently to kiss his youngest son’s head and then whispered, whilst heaving himself off the bed so that Rupert could lie down, “I don’t know what you were playing at laddie, but your mother had to tidy your room up.”  
As Rupert turned onto his side he heard his father mutter, “Don’t do it again. Your mother will have a kitten.” And with that, the door was closed and darkness fell onto Rupert’s dormant subdued figure.

After ensuring that his father wasn’t still listening, Rupert raised himself out of the bed and tip toed across to the desk that contained his diary. He flicked past September 4, and moved onto the next clean page and began to write again, feeling slightly calmer with every stroke of the pen.

September 10, 1938

Dear Diary,
My day has been wretched. I was left alone with Isaac, who locked me in the attic after I failed to finish a futile task of a job which he had set me. It was frightening being up there on my own; all I seemed to be able to think about was what might happen to me if my family forgot about my existence here. It wouldn’t surprise me if they did.

I don’t understand how my parents, as gullible as they are, were able to believe that I had somehow locked myself in the attic, I mean, it really is too high for me to reach by myself, and I suspect that even Isaac had to stand a little taller to reach such a height.

My life would be so much easier if it was like Emily’s. No brothers, no sisters, although I don’t have any sisters in truth, I suppose that it would be a marvellous feeling to be an only child. If only there was a way in which I could somehow just rid myself of all siblings...

Rupert stopped here to read what he had just written. His mind suddenly jolted into action after reading the last sentence. His mind began whirring with thoughts and ideas as if somebody had just turned a switch to regain his life. Each plan could be carried out very easily, and then after his plans were successfully executed, he would be the only Riley son, and he could finally be the centre of attention and he could inherit the whole fortune which his parents had acquired over the years.

For Isaac, I would simply lock him in the attic, only rather an attic my family doesn’t know about, so there could be no possibility of finding him once I had positioned him. Whilst I’d simply just ignore his existence and wreck his room; when mother asks ‘Where is Isaac?” I would merely reply with a slight shrug of the shoulders and blame the state of his room for his sudden departure. Yes, he wastes away in isolated and object horror; if only...



-----


From then on, it became almost customary, if not obligatory for Rupert to write in his beloved diary once the lights had gone out and the silence of sleep pressed against his eardrums. He waited for it, anxiously throughout the day, and whatever torments he had endured over the last few hours, he would twist them so now it was Isaac or Russell being locked in an attic, or shut in the shed or even pushed into the freezer when their mother’s back was turned.

Each punishment would be given a name, and occasionally in later entries he would refer directly to these fruits of his mind and change them or else just simply comment on how unbelievable and prodigious it was that he had come up with such a tremendous idea.

Often he would take pleasure in flicking through the now considerably used and thicker looking book, laughing at how unadorned and unpretentious his primary ideas had been and gloating almost in awe at his own adeptness as he read some of his more recent and cunning ideas, many of which contained a level of brutality and violence that would have shocked even his siblings. His entries became all absorbing, his life, and his means of coping.

Suddenly, these matters of cruelty did not bother Rupert. He was content sitting in silence, his bare feet wrapped around the wooden chair legs, and the elegant writing implement he had now become to see as almost a friend wide open and ready to share its most secretive and confidential thoughts.

Secrets that made Rupert look almost ill, so now his hair was looking considerably thinner, perhaps even a little lighter than the previous handsome shade of brown it had once been, his bouncy curls were drooping and becoming limp. His face was beginning to thin too, his cheekbones were visibly gaunt and his eyes seemed rather more sunken in his skull like figure. His eyes themselves were currently containing an unhealthy glint that appeared to dominate whenever he recognized an opportunity to strike upon his brothers or whenever he prepared himself for when Isaac or Russell were going to do something quite callous to him. They were framed by a shade of pink that made him look as though he was constantly crying or had a bad dose of hay-fever, they blinked less often, searched around rooms so much more in vindictive hunger and now sported dark shadows beneath them so when Rupert lowered his head, his eyes seemed to sink and disappear beneath his frown.

Of course, Rupert did not see this; he would infrequently glance across at a mirror, catching himself for a brief moment and only seeing what he of course wanted to see. He saw a handsome young boy staring back at him with curls and blue eyes and elegantly soft and glowing skin that emitted a silvery glow. An independent young man? The pride and envy of those around him. Most importantly, he saw himself in front of his brothers, obscuring them from view, he saw himself as their master, their superior and only when his parents told him to eat his vegetables or sit up straight, did Rupert truly feel like the twelve year old little boy, he truly was.

His parents did not seem to notice a change in their youngest son; instead they continued telling him what to do, what not to do and how to do it. They were too busy to care about Rupert anyway. Rupert’s father was having to work longer hours in order to pay for all the additional books that Russell needed to start University in a week’s time; which in turn meant that his mother was becoming increasingly agitated and snapped the slightest thing, feeling tired and anxious.


Rupert continued meanwhile to write in his diary up until the day of Russell’s departure when he was told to go to bed early as he would have to rise even earlier the following morning to wish his sibling well. Rupert reluctantly slept well that night, leaving his precious diary alone for the first time in months. When he awoke the next day, he felt groggy from the unexpected amount of sleep he had received before being forced into the back of the car whilst his mother and father huffed and puffed, dragging Russell’s many cases along the gravel path that led up to the grand old house.

Rupert was wedged between Isaac and Russell in the least comfortable seat and despite what would have been an otherwise awkward atmosphere, he sat rather pleasantly between the two, and his mind fixed strictly on the brown diary upstairs in his room.

As they drove across the country, listening to his father’s worsening singing of music; Rupert continued to stare fixedly out towards the passing fields and other cars. He would sporadically cough or reach across Isaac’s lap almost like a personal challenge of courage, a thing he would never have done before, to reach a tissue on which to wipe his now forever watering eyes or blow his nose which was not accustomed to the smell of fresh air, having adjusted only to the scent of his bedroom.

Once they reached the gates of the University, everyone, except Rupert clambered out of the now sweltering hot car and stood, waiting for Russell to hug them goodbye. Rupert watched from a misty window, rather glad that he was not part of such a perplexing display of affection, and was shocked when he noted Russell actually wave a little gesture of departure at him.

His mother naturally burst into tears once all the cases from the car had been unloaded, again with much huffing and puffing. Rupert watched as Russell hugged his parents again and again, desperate to stop his mother embarrassing him, he gathered all his cases up and was just about to walk through the gate when unexpectedly he turned around, let go of all luggage and popped his head into the car, where Rupert sat, staring at him with a look of mingled fury and surprise because he now had to say a heartfelt goodbye and surprise because with some satisfaction he realised somebody for once had just remembered him.

“Well. I’ll be seeing you little brother.” Russell smiled from the front of the car. Rupert shrugged. “I’ll write to you if you like.” Again Rupert shrugged, but suddenly he was inspired. “Yes. And maybe I could send you some things I’ve been writing about you.” His voice was perfectly controlled and managed, and yet already in his mind he had hatched a plan, a plan of vicious and unnecessary cruelty.

“You’ve written things about me?” he sounded almost astonished. “What type of things?”

“Oh, nothing special. Just something that I like to come back to now and again to ponder over.” He suppressed a smile and tried to look solemn.

Russell naively smiled again. “I’d like that.” He waved goodbye one last time and then disappeared from the car. Outside, Rupert could hear him telling his parents of his conversation with his younger brother, they gasped and seemed to be listening quite aptly.
When his family returned and clambered back into the car, waving goodbye at the now fading silhouetted figure of Russell, they each turned around to face Rupert.

“I hear you’re going to write to Russell.” Said his father. “That’s real nice of you.” Then he turned to Isaac who looked astounded. “It wouldn’t hurt you to take an interest in Russell’s University life.” His tone was unusually critical and neither Rupert nor Isaac missed it.

Isaac tried to complain loudly but instead was drowned out by the music tape his father had just resumed playing. They sat in silence again for another half an hour until Rupert’s mother turned to him, taking her fur hat off and placing it beside her, and asked, “What are these things you’ve been writing about Russell?”

“Well, put it this way.” Smiled Rupert. He turned and looked at Isaac who was watching him with an expression of suspicion etched across his face, “One down, one to go.”