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Weekly Contest #330
My brother is haunting me. Sometimes he haunts me as a dead thing, his form rigid and hollow; hands made of static cling and a lingering scent of wet soil. Other times, when my brother haunts me, he stands tall, puffs out his chest, and helps our mom bring in groceries from the car. He carries them all in one trip. He even puts it all away, cold items first. And once everything is stored in the right place, he grabs an orange, takes my hand, and leads me outside. We sit on the curb as he peels the orange and splits it. He puts the pieces of ...
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