Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-33937557-20180617200122

''I decided to go back to the drawing board from Crocodiles (if anyone who read that reads this), so I decided to try something else. What do you think?''

--Read on.--

My little brother Thomas was deathly horrified by rats. When he saw them around the farm he near had a heart attack right on the spot, if they popped up on television his eyes grew wide and he screamed. I didn’t like them either, sure, but my reactions to rats never reached such outlandish terror as his. Our parents had tried to console him for years, but even after the age of five he dropped anything he was doing when the vermin came in his sights.

I got great old fun out of teasing him, no, torturing is more like it. Often I’d take him somewhere I knew hundreds were waiting: squeaking and gnashing their teeth; I placed a flattened one I’d found in the cow pasture on his bed one night, afterward standing with an ear to the wall, then laughing maniacally like the bratty shit I was when he flicked on the light switch and howled; “Super-Rats” flew through the air more than enough times, landing on him and gripping tightly onto his hair, onto his clothing.

Needless to say, though I will anyhow, I was almost-always grounded or punished in some way. Hell, you can’t blame me. For a long time we were all little monsters, weren’t we?

But I digress. Thomas did his fair share of bullying, too. I spent hours trying to watch him, having to take “extra good care of him” when our folks were out since he was my “precious younger brother.” Those days concluded with us beating and thrashing around. When the car roared up the driveway later our house was usually the Wreck of Mercedes, and I ended up on the short end of a fake straw getting blunted with repercussions.

Thomas laughed when they weren’t looking. Every single goddamn time he’d make that nasily noise with his face, and I’d just want to choke him. Thank the Lord it was easy to get revenge. It’s pretty sweet, isn’t it?

One particular day he’d really gone and screwed up my life: I was 14, he was two years behind me. Happened to be chatting with my girlfriend of two weeks over the phone during summer vacation, he poked his rat-fearing nose where it didn’t belong. Inevitably, he picked up on our conversation, so he ran to the kitchen, blabbing to Dad.

Now, we lived in a house with very strict rules as to what ages one could date without getting in trouble, and he was the primary enforcer. Thus, I wound up unable to call anyone for the rest of the break, with one last dial I was to terminate my relationship. He’d crossed a line that nobody should ever cross under any foreseeable circumstances. That night I would turn to rats for what had to have been the billionth time.

I discovered Thomas out in the barn’s henhouse with a little metal bucket collecting eggs, a daily chore of his. My plan went into action when he left this bucket to go grab a carton: I pulled the old switcheroo, setting in its place an identical pail with two tiny rats instead. What a scare he’ll get from this, was the thought that came to mind, but he deserves it.

But my little brother didn’t deserve anything near what he got. Standing in a hidden corner, I winced as he screamed and flailed around akin to a headless madman with rabies. Upon squinting I noticed one of the rats had sunk its teeth into his hand, not letting go for any one thing in the world. I was worried, but decided to stand a bit longer.

He sped from one end of the barn to the other over and over, shaking it furiously, yet it still stayed hooked. Blood now trailed down his arm. I decided I’d had good fun with tormenting him, running out to pull it off. He was so freaked out that he didn’t seem to notice me. Keeping up his wild sprint, rat steadfast, he raced right past me even as I told him to stop.

“Get it off! Get it offa me!”

I reached out my hand to catch him, missing him by a mile. With one final burst of speed he threw himself right out a large window. The vile creature finally let go as Thomas screeched, plummeting to the grassy ground a dozen feet below. I peered down only to see them both lying motionless.

When I brought Mom and Dad to him, frantic, shaking, sobbing, I saw that hundreds of famished rodents were having their fill.

I'm deathly horrified by rats. 