I have decided to post something straight away, so I dug out an old piece. This was written for a high school literature assignment.
, who we were studying.
Cursed
“…May those who curse you be cursed…” Genesis 27:29
I am of a most affluent breed; my family’s position was exquisite, our rambling estate nestled within rolling green hills, and surrounded by tall oak forests, and not least our large and luxuriously furnished Elizabethan mansion, occasioned us to be among the most elite and respected society. Suffice to say, throughout the years of my youth, I was lavished with all the material wealth and opportunities one of my class deserved. Yet it was that, at times, I felt the most poor and dejected creature upon this earth. My mother had died during her first childbirth – a fact which I have always mourned deeply, for it occasioned not one, but two sorrows. I was denied the privilege of knowing the woman who gave me life, but what has now proven to be worse was the birth of another child, a twin brother to myself, who had the strength, or luck, to be cradled first and named sole heir as eldest son.
We both grew strongly, well provided for by our father who was utterly blind, the unfortunate consequence of a past illness, and somewhat deaf, the usual infirmity of his far progressed age. My elder brother and myself were very much alike in size, shape and voice, thus our father, in his complete blindness, could barely distinguish one son from the other. The sole discriminating factor grew upon my brother’s body. While my skin was smooth, my twin’s was covered in a thick layer of coarse dark hairs.
As I have previously mentioned to you, we grew very much alike; in our early years we were wont to hold such fond intimacy that we were rarely seen apart, and we, with equal diligence and passion, determined to succeed in all our studies, labours and talents. As years progressed, however, to my bitter disappointment, although we were in truth fit equals, our father showed a blatant preference for his elder, hairy son.
I endured years of my brother’s faithful friendship, and indeed loved him for it, yet coveted our father’s favour, so lavishly bestowed on him but frightfully lacking towards myself. In the recesses of our father’s mind, I know not why my light shone but ever dimly in the strength of my brother’s radiant glow.
I could not tell you when my youthful mind formed such a notion, but as the years passed I developed a strong association between my own hapless predicament and my brother’s unnatural hair. Hence from this dubious conclusion, I came to loath his hair with a passion quite beyond my control, and became fixated upon it as the sole blame for all my troubles; I was driven to a state of pure agitation by perceiving my father caress his hairy arms and give him alone the praise we both deserved. And yet I loved both father and brother, and strove to please them both. It could be supposed then, that with maturity this phase should pass and my excitable fancy be quelled. But such was not the case. As my age increased so too did my hatred of my twin’s hair, and so dramatically indeed, that simply upon sight of it I would fill with commingled envy and disgust and be forced to quit my brother’s otherwise pleasantly tolerable company.
With growing animosity, I watched the years slowly pass and my father’s health decline, until one frosty winter it became evident he should not witness the next year in, and became confined to his deathbed, waited upon by his servants and sons. I cared for him lovingly, indeed with more kindness than ever his favourite son showed, but even facing death my father would not share the love evenly between his two progeny, and my soul starved for love. So perhaps you shall be kinder in your judgment of the story I shall now relate. For I swear it was for no vindictiveness of my own nature, but a bitter consequence of my love’s harsh rejection.
One chill morning father called upon my brother and I, he was very poorly, very wan and pale, and so very cold, his lips were pale blue and it pained me to watch them struggle with his words. “My sons, I die”, his voice was low and dry, and he needed to constantly moisten his lips with his swollen tongue, but he continued speaking quite audibly and bid my twin alone “join him ‘ere he passed through the pearly gates, so that he might abdicate his position and wealth upon his heir, and give his paternal blessing.” As I left him to sleep, I cried unabashed at my imminent loss, and on reaching the egress, turned to look once more upon his frail form, and perceived instead of a sleeping figure, my father smiling into the eyes – although he could not see them himself – of my brother, whose hairy arms held in an embrace the man who had shunned my proffered touch. My peculiar temperament, the idiosyncrasy I have previously divulged to you, would not, could not allow this final neglect to pass unavenged.
Many would say my motive was the inheritance, but I deny this outright, I had no, and have no desire for increased wealth or land, such material riches I have always known and thus cared little for, knowing the truth that the soul needs more intangible food. That day, however, after supping alone with my twin, forced to look upon his haired arms lifting each spoonful to and from his mouth, to witness his bearded chin wag back and forth in idle conversation, and moans of grief, the anger rose within me, and while I hid it well I could not subdue it.
“Brother,” Said I, as we exited the room, “I am much grieved, wilt thou come walk with me, it would much mitigate the melancholy hanging on my spirits” even as I welcomed him to join me, I wished for nothing but his absence. In false-pretence I led him towards the yards, to a shadowy, isolated region where I found, as I knew I would, the tools of the forge. From the collection I retrieved a weighty hammer and approached my brother, holding the instrument aloft my right shoulder. In a fit of passion, but by no means of madness, I knocked the life from him. I knelt and affirmed my surmise: he was stone dead. Well may you wonder at my sanity, but the power I held over my emotions was immense; despite the urge to rid myself forever of the repellent pelage, I forced myself to acquire it. With what meticulous care, what fine skill and grace I set to work with the unaccustomed instruments, flaying at the pelt-like skin until I had procured an entire hide of the most remarkable and unusual quality. You shall not think me mad longer, for what I proceeded to do with this strange skin is so profound and ingenious, that only one of sound mind and wit could have conceived it. I fought my rising nausea at holding such abhorred material, and with needle and thread began a second hours’ labour, the conclusion of which left me wearied but alert, and in the possession of a finely crafted costume. From the stuff of my brother’s naked form, I had now fashioned sleeves, wig and beard, perfectly fitted on my own cast, and convincingly enough for a blind and dying father, transformed myself to that aforementioned twin. The body I disposed of cunningly, I am as sure now as then that none shall ever find it; the sibling bond which held me to him was not so easily broken, despite my actions, and with the wish to both hide all evidence and lay my beloved twin (for now without his wretched hair I could so account him once again) to rest in peace, I buried him immediately in the garden where our mother lay, beside a tree we had often climbed as boys. As for the small amount of blood that had been shed, I had performed all my bloody work in a hovel reserved for the slaughter of game, and none could tell my handiwork had been on ought but a boar.
My toil had brought me to the end of a third hour, and the evening had drew on fast, it was now the time my father lay awake waiting for his eldest son and heir to come as he had charged. Secreting the strange suit within my cloak, I hurried to my father’s chamber. Upon entering I found him sitting up, with a man long employed at our estate standing by with paper, ink and quill (he was there to witness my father’s will, and ensure its directions proceeded). My father called out to affirm it was his eldest son, I answered yea immediately and confidently, and the man showed some confusion, but spoke not. Panic rose within me, albeit I mastered it afore it dominated my senses, my plan should fail with this man present, and thus it needs be altered. I have never been one of slow wit, and quickly I devised an amended strategy. Disguising my voice, as best I could, to sound more of my brother than myself, I quietly persuaded my father that this business was best done privately, being family matter alone, and that he should ask the man to leave. My genius was rewarded; on my request and prompting, father bid the man witness, and here am I most pleased with my cunning, “that this, my son, here present, [mark it, I say, that he said not, ‘my eldest son’!] doth own all my wealth, property and title, and right of this estate. Now leave us to our family business, write as I have charged you, our business now is done.”
The man, in some small confusion, did as he was bid, and penned upon the will, that I, and not my brother, now inherited the whole of my father’s monopoly.
I would lie, of course, to say this pleased me not, but my greatest success was yet to come. I reached within my cloak and withdrew my hairy leathers, secured them upon my self, and hid my own smooth skin that was not covered by the disguise, under my regular garments. At my father’s feeble call I went to him and knelt beside his chair, his long, wrinkled fingers stretched towards me slowly, searching the air as he asked again if I was truly his eldest son. His suspicion troubled me but little, I answered him softly and sweetly at the moment his hands found my arms, his attentive fingers feeling instead the arms of my hairy brother. He smiled at me, an uncommon occurrence, and said that I “sound more like his youngest son, but feel as his eldest.” I would have the next moment again and again if it were possible, I believe now I should have been happier to die on that moment, than to have lived even three minutes more. My father spoke to me in pure kindness; he held my hand and smiled upon me, blessing me with prosperous future, happiness and health. I was elated, and still am now to reflect on his words, but my ecstatic happiness was not to last long.
“Son, I love you and give you all, but your younger brother cannot be forgotten. Call him to me, I am too weak, and must bless him also, ‘ere I die.” My heart soared to hear him speak of me, deliberately of me, in such fond terms, but instantaneously I shuddered and grew cold and pale, as I filled with remorse and guilt stricken grief. I left the room, hovering by the egress for what I accounted a decent time, and used the opportunity to compose myself. Entering again, quietly, and standing further from him, I spoke clearly in my own voice a greeting to my dying father. He held some small conversation, he thought to be between himself and his two sons. I have had skill in ventriloquism since my youngest years, and easily I deceived my father that both his sons were present. To my most bereaved pleasure, he wished upon me, a share in all my brother’s plenty and blessed my faithful soul with happiness. Indeed, this I could have borne with pleasure, had not my father continued I surely should not have been undone. In the most loud, and sure voice his limp lungs could muster forth, he articulated
“A curse, upon any who do you wrong [and here certainly he spoke only of his eldest] may the devil torment his soul that does not take heed, that you, my son, shall live and prosper till the end of your natural days.” My now much heated brain, allayed to see him fall asleep at his speech’s end, and I quit his company immediately, fleeing toward the library as the great black clock struck twelve and its doleful toll rang hollowly about the deserted halls. With streaming eyes, but hardened heart, I found myself alone in some obscure wing of our, my, expansive library. In fury I tore the hated suit of hair from my frame, and in haste withdrew a large book, on some such matter as tropical diseases or so, which surely none should find use for, I rived a secret compartment into the internals of the book, and stuffed the hated matter amongst the pages of the tome. As for the shreds of text I had removed, these I burned in the torch at the egress to the library, successfully disposing of all clues to my misdeed.
My father never saw the light of another day. The next morning I assumed dominance over the estate, those who asked, I convinced my elder brother had fled in the night, ashamed and outraged that he had been left from our father’s will. I would fain deny it, but I am a superstitious person, and my father’s dying words left me timorous, and so this enhanced that part of my nature that was a recluse, I have never felt entirely loved or appreciated and a house of attentive, obedient men attending my will, made me both proud and unsettled. Bar the most necessary and trusted, I released every employee, and I took refuge from a consoling, but much too prying neighbourhood, by rejecting most society. I lived for several months a languid lifestyle, I received every pleasure money could buy, and spared no expense to satisfy even the most outrageous of my whims, and I worked not one day for my luxury. I know the village spoke of me, rumours ran thick of my obscure behaviour, I often sat up all night in the Cimmerian library savouring my prosperity, but more than once, upon the striking of the midnight hour, my mind would turn to my father’s death, and I would fill with dread. Forever fearful of my father’s curse, forever seeking his black purpose in my misfortunes. And so it was when I fell ill upon the anniversary of both kin’s death, I read within it the advent of his revenge. No doctor could find a name for my symptoms, though I sent afar for the best of their propensity, nor could any relieve my sufferings.
I lay abed for weeks on end, unable to speak for swollen glands and inflamed throat, spent nights delirious and in cold sweats, others in burning fever, for the many months of my suffering I could only abide the most staple diet, all else my stomach rejected. Often I would feel recovered, but strolling in the gardens, would faint and be insensible for days, in which time I would anomalously waste rapidly away, and my carers would mistrust all hope of my convalescence. Yet the most hideous of all my symptoms was an ailment of the epidermis; a sickly yellowish hue stained my formally perfect skin, and similar to diseases such as foot rot, it peeled and hung upon me with an onerous odour. For such a foul and unnatural disease to beset me, when I had spent no time abroad, nor enjoyed unhealthy practices, I accounted supernatural forces were at play, and my demise was incontestable. And yet, my stubborn, proud and forceful will would not allow my life to end so hideously without a fight.
A fair and warm week chanced to bless us, and my spirits rose with the sun each day, as my illness subdued to the relieving weather. I took opportunity at this to journey from my sickbed into the now much forsaken house. Gathering carers about, I bid them accompany me to the library. I knew that within such a grand collection there must be some volume addressing such a condition as mine. With men on either side to support my frail chassis, I ever so slowly approached the massive doors of the library, enervating with each laborious step. Within, the aisles were dim; necessity made us venture further and further into the gloom filled depths in search of the healing manuscript. With each step my disease took a firmer hold, and the encroaching darkness little emancipated by my carer's candle, caused a chill to run the length of my spine as we approached the hunted shelves. As we searched for the tome to rid me of my virulent disease, I felt the area familiar as if in some dream I had visited before, I dismissed the thought, in my childhood I had often played at hiding games with my brother amongst these books, such a distant memory should justify my deja vu. A carer exclaimed with delight that he had found the desired tome, and heaving it from the shelves, for indeed it was a massive text, called our small congregation to gather round and see. In hushed anticipation we observed the man open the bindings and read within the list of contents which page contained cures for symptoms such as my own. Someone held the book aloft while the man turned the pages, and my wearied eyes watched all in commingled trepidation and desire. But fulminate my father for his evil design, for as the desired page was reached, the writing was entirely omitted, instead a strange object fell from the ragged hollow within the tome where my cure should have been. My men gathered round the fallen article with their candles shining acrimoniously upon the curious fibre, yes indeed, the book held not my cure, but my undoing, for the object on the floor was none other than my brother's hairy skin!
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