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Weekly Contest #355
I smother my smile with my hand and a cough when my brother starts to cry at our mother's funeral.Jackson's face is pinched and bright red like an agitated boil. Fat, sloppy tears spill down his cheeks. Runny snot drips onto his white button-up shirt. It reminds me of when we were kids and I gave him a bloody nose. For what? I don't remember, but I'm sure he deserved it. Or the time AJ "the Bulldozer" Richter called him gay before running an offensive play in midget football. My little brother. Sensitive, annoying. The human equivalent of a ...
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