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skin and his hateful words of how I ruined his life as they echo through the night air.
    I’d be a liar if I said I’m not hurt.  My heart is bleeding out as bad as the cuts on my skin.  Worse even.  This is my kid brother.
    The memories flood my mind about the trouble we used to get into.  Boys being boys.  Teasing our sister.  Threatening her boyfriends.  All of it.  That is, until he fucked up his own life, by his choice.  Sticking a damn needle in his arm and coming home like he thought I was going to pat him on the back for flying so high he couldn’t see straight.
    “You ruined your own life. Not me.”
    “Is that so?” His deep, slurry voice calls out from in front of me.  I snap.  My vocal chords strain and fight against me to speak to a man I don’t even know anymore.
    “Damn right, it is.  You decided to fuck up your life, not me.  And now, look at you.  You’re worn.  Your skin looks like shit.  You disgust me, little brother.”  Hissing through the agony of my battered body and my broken heart, I fight to leave him with words that will haunt him during his deepest, darkest nights.  He'll remember this until he dies, we both will.  Now is my chance to give him this little going-away talk.  Because I'm afraid that one way or another, I'll be going away from this soon.
    “I’m not the one hanging by a tree with my bare ass and my worthless dick dangling in the breeze.  It isn't my raw flesh waiting for one of these vultures to swarm around here and pick at my fucking bleeding skin.  So, you tell me who looks like shit, smells like shit, and is about to eat fucking shit if he doesn't shut his fucking mouth.”  He grinds his cigarette into the ground before he takes a swig of whatever he has in his bottle then stumbles his way to an inch within my face.  His breath is disgusting, and his eyes flare with a loathing desire to just end me.  His nostrils move in and out like the madman he is while he shows an ounce of restraint in his actions.
    “You high, drunk, or both?”  I question.  Not that I give a rat’s ass, but my intelligence needs to know what I’m up against here.  If he’s drunk, like I suspect he is, a nice head butt to the face should knock his stupid ass out and break his nose.  Fuck.  I wish my legs were free.  I’d bash his skull into the ground once he drops, then I’d make damn sure they wouldn’t be able to identify him.  No one would miss him anyway.  He’s been dead to us since the day he disappeared.  Well, dead to everyone except our mother.  Yet, he has no remorse for what he has done to her.  I'll let the runaway continue to think she hates him, because there's no way in hell I want him to think he has an in with her again.
    Part of my brain tells me I no longer have a brother and that I hate this individual in front of me for the pain he has caused not only today, but to my family for years.  I'm preparing myself for another physical attack, while he staggers toward me.   Another part of my brain continues to analyze and count down to the second until I'll move to strike against the man I despise.
    “I’m not on drugs anymore.  Haven’t touched them in years.  Not since I learned you can make a hell of a lot more money selling than shooting up.  I’m a rich bastard, Kaleb.  This piece of shit place you see here is a front to the mansion, the pussy, the money, any damn thing I want.  It’s all behind you. Tucked nice and safe in the middle of this jungle.”  His hands go out wide, like he’s the king.  Maybe he is down here, but he’s a motherfucking peasant to me.  An absolute nobody.
    He lifts the bottle to his lips and tips it back before he wipes them with the back of his hand.
    “Let me check out my work.”  Stepping around me, he kicks at my legs.  I fight like crazy to keep them from buckling.  I’m afraid if they do, my arms will break and my shoulders will dislodge from their tight joints.  His slimy