An End To Progress 

by Danny Daly

I slid my card down and punched out of work. Most teenage boys, after finishing their afterschool jobs on a Friday night, might go out to party. Some kids, with any sense, would stay up late studying. Some are out there playing the football game that will become the highlight of their life. But I have other plans. Different plans. Some could say unique plans. 

I hurry out of the fast food joint to my beat-up 1984 Corolla with a big grin on my face. The car is 14 years old, and it hasn’t failed me yet. I took a sigh of relief as I reached down underneath the car seat and felt the rope and bio-cleanse-the stuff they use at crime scenes to get the blood off the wall. I’m not planning to make a big mess, of course, but I can’t afford to leave anything behind. I’d rather be careful when handling these serious matters. I started up the car and put it into third gear, and drove to the main road. It will be a nice slow drive home. Lots of time to think about what I’m going to do. 

Wait for big brother to get home, then wait for him to go to bed. Once he is asleep, sneak into his room, then tie a rope around his neck and strangle him. Then take the body out to the backyard and hang it up on a tree. It was simple. My lips curled up into a grin. All I want to see is that look of terror in his eyes in his last few moments of life. I’ve thought about the consequences of his death too. My brother isn’t that well known. He has a couple of work friends, but I’m the only family he has left. 

He went to work for this new company after he dropped out of school. New innovative computer stuff. Right now, they’re developing a phone that can browse the internet and make calls, like a computer in your pocket. He’s been working on this project for months, and it hasn’t really gone anywhere. He acts all confident like one day it will work but deep down, I don’t know if he really believes his own words. Regardless of how I feel about it, a lot of rich people are interested in his work. After his death, there might be questions, and tragically even the dead can find ways to talk. I’ll just have to make sure his colleagues hear the right things. My grip on the wheel grew tighter.

I know the real Henry. In truth, he’s a shell of a man. He acts like he’s something special when he’s just another faceless salaryman. Beyond that, he’s so angry all the time. Coming home from work is a matter of prepping for another shouting match with him over some minor offense. When life gets too tough, he just runs away and shoves his head into more projects. Like he did when he ran off to university without telling anybody. It’s pathetic. Granted, I’m pathetic too but at least I'm honest about it.  

After a couple of police interviews and some tears, people will forget about him. 

I pulled my red car up to our house. I tensed up feeling a rush of memories flow through my head. Unfortunately, my brother and I still live in the same place we grew up in. My brother inherited the house after Dad died. I was entering high school, and he was a fresh college dropout. Needless to say, we were really broke. 

My brother can afford it, but he never bothers to maintain the place. The overgrown grass in our front yard itched at my legs as I strutted up to the front door. I swung it open, immediately feeling a wave of cold air hit my face. The heating is broken downstairs so it's always cold.

“Henry!,” I shouted. “Henry, you home?”

No answer. He’s probably not home yet, or maybe he’s passed out in bed. Some days he’ll just collapse on the couch after a long day at work. 

 The place was a bit of a mess but that wasn’t abnormal. Even when Dad was alive, it was always a mess. Besides the few occasions when the smell of dust and rot got too unbearable for me, nobody ever bothered to dust off the counters, do the dishes, or even organize piles of clutter that had built up around the place. My eyes dart to a flickering light in the kitchen; I sighed in exasperation. I just switched that bulb out last week. There’s no point in fixing it. The house is dark anyways since half the lights are out. Then, I felt a drop of ice-cold water land on my nose. I pinched it and looked up at the ugly crack in the ceiling. Our roof is messed up so rain leaks in for about ten out of twelve months of the year. To avoid getting out of fixing anything, Henry always makes some excuses like, he’s too busy or tired to bother with it. The idiot doesn’t even want to sell the place and move, saying it’s close to the train and still has sentimental value. Bullshit. This place is miserable. He’s just too scared of going to a new place. When he’s dead I’ll finally get rid of this house. I’ll buy an RV and travel the country. My chest swelled with warmth just daydreaming about being on my own. 

Before I stepped out to get my tools from the car, I noticed an open box of Oreos missing one of its columns and an empty pizza box on our kitchen table. I set my hand down on the table only to feel sticky cookie crumbs on my fingertips. I groaned with disgust and quickly tossed out both boxes slamming the trash door shut as I did. 

Ever so carefully, I took my tools to my room and slid them under the bed. Keeping things away from prying eyes is one of the easiest ways to stay out of trouble. The next step was to make sure the backyard was ready. I headed downstairs looking at the stairwell as I did. The wall still has a big hole in it thanks to Dad throwing his fist into it when I was a kid. One of many frightening memories with Dad. I wish Henry would just patch the stupid hole so I could forget about that day. 

As I passed through our living room, I stopped at our old TV. My leg bounced with excitement as I thought about the nice new TV set and DVD player I was going to buy with his money.

Henry and I spent so much time around this television as kids. It was one of the few things we both loved doing together. Usually, we’d rent a couple of VHS tapes from the library and watch them on weekends or while we waited for Dad to get home from work. They were the same films over and over, but we always liked them just fine. I felt a soft smile creep onto my face only for it to vanish as quickly as it appeared. He’s too busy for movies nowadays, but he was nice enough to buy me a new DVD player as a Christmas gift last year. It wasn’t cheap. It was fun for a while. Of course, when he found out I was watching gory horror films, and some fake snuff movies, he tossed the thing out along with my entire collection. It ended up turning into another massive argument. Yelling and screaming; all the works. The only explanation he gave was he didn’t want me watching that violent stuff. I understood where he was coming from. I wasn’t angry, just upset he went behind my back. He knew how much I loved that DVD player. Tiredness clouded my mind just thinking about that argument.  

Soon enough, I’ll have nobody barking over my shoulder telling me what I can and can’t do. I’ll be free from his control at last. Sometimes, those old memories make me reconsider, but in truth, I know there’s no fixing this. I can’t live like this anymore. I stand up and slowly turn to the backyard. After I kill him, I can finally move on from this fucking place. He’ll understand how many times he’s let me down over the years.

I sauntered up to the sliding glass door. As I did, I spotted the old tire swing hanging from the maple tree in our backyard-the one Henry would push me on when we were kids. He used to tell me how his mom did that for him, or something overly sweet like that. I never knew her so I never paid much attention to stories about her. 

As I drew closer, I realized that the tire swing was still sitting up by the fence where we had left it.

 It was my brother dangling from the tree.  

My body locked into place as I stared into his crystalized eyes from across the backyard. I gulped, only to feel a burning pain in my chest. Of course, I wouldn’t get the satisfaction of ending him myself. He runs from everything. He couldn’t even let me have this one thing. That son of a bitch. 

I slowly glided up to the corpse. Ever so gently I placed my hand into his. It was still warm; I must have just missed him. As my fingers slipped out of his, my chest tightened with a painful sting, and I slammed my fist into his stomach.

“You stupid prick! How could you just go up there and die without me!” As my fist slammed into his gut, my cheeks started to puff up. “You’re such an idiot. Of course, you’d do something like this. Of course, of course–” my voice trailed off into a pathetic whisper. 

I stood there in the cold quiet night staring at my feet and biting down on my lip. The air was perfectly still only broken by the roaring of a car passing by. I let out a long sigh, looked up at his face then went back inside that dark house for the last time.