Short, Light, Free

On the first night of mid-term examination, it was pouring outside.

I had English and Science papers the next day.

After I finshed up my revision for both subjects, I left the room only to find that the house was empty and the food on the table was still hot.

Everyone was missing and my first thought was that Mom and Dad must’ve gone out to search for little brother once again.

I went to the balcony that he loved hiding in. I found a makeshift rope from bedsheets tied together.

We lived on the third floor.

I saw small footprints on top of the air conditioner.

It was obviously his footprints.

Looking at the pouring rain, I quivered. He must be at one of the shops, I thought.

Mom and Dad weren’t home. For a short while, I sat on the sofa, gasping for breath.

The door opened and I imagined it to be Mom and Dad bringing my brother home.

But only the two of them returned.

“Where is he?” I asked.

Mom only wept.

“Nowhere to be found,” Dad responded.

I suggested to call the police and Dad proceeded down to the nearest security station.

Upon his return, the three of us stared blankly at the walls, waiting for news.

The phone rang all of a sudden.

He’s been found.

It was a supermarket manager on the other end of the line.

My little brother had made his way to the nearest supermarket after sneaking out.

He’d been found snacking on candies under the candy counter.

A staff spotted him stuffing all the sticky candy wrappers into his pockets.

When asked about it, he refused to say anything.

Fortunately, the staff had managed to get our number by tempting him with candies.

Mom and Dad dashed straight for the supermarket and I followed closely.

It was still pouring when we got there.

As I kept my umbrella, I saw Mom rushing over to grab my brother’s hand as she thanked all the staff in the store.

It was on that day that I knew he was addicted to candies.

Result day. I was eligible for many senior high schools.

Little brother grew crazier with each passing day.

He would make noise if not given candies.

He would even start harming himself.

Not knowing what to do, Mom sent him to a rehabilitation center.

It was a mental hospital actually. Mom and Dad were no longer able to handle him.

Within a week, with the help of sedative drugs, he started to accept treatment.

Something else happened in that week.

In his ward was another patient who was suffering from depression. He had been down with a cold for the longest time.

When he switched over to Chinese medicine, the nurses gave him candies to tackle the bitterness.

Later on, he got attacked by my little brother, and the nurses weren’t able to stop it in time, resulting in severe injuries.

No one could’ve imagined that a seven-year-old would possess that much strength.

Little brother was placed on isolation because of this. Visits weren’t allowed as well.

In order to avoid my brother, I chose to attend a senior high school in the neighboring city.

Time passed quickly and I had fun with my classmates.

All was good save for the part where they started discussing about their siblings.

They asked about mine, of course, but I only shook my head and said I had none.

Even when it came to winter breaks, I chose not to go home.

I simply told my parents that I had work or internship commitments.

They would call me regularly to inform me about my brother’s condition.

Many things had happened to him of course.

For example, he somehow managed to get hold of a lot of candies even in the hospital.

No one knew how he got them.

All they knew was that they could always find wrappers hidden in his pillowcase.

There was nothing Mom and Dad could do about the situation and even the doctor said that he could only deal with this progressively.

Many a times, Mom and Dad would tell me over the phone that Little Brother misses me.

Three years in senior high passed quickly and I had been afraid to return home for each new year.

I only returned home once after my final year and our family finally had a reunion.

Having a little too much to drink, Dad suggested that we visit Little Brother the next day.

I declined with a reasonable excuse, of course.

Never once did I return home throughout my four years in university.

I made fewer calls as time passed.

On the first day of my third year in school, I received a call from Mom.

She announced happily that my brother was getting well soon and that his condition had more or less stabilized.

After some discussion, Mom and Dad decided to bring him home to continue his treatment.

I simply agreed since I didn’t know how else to deal with the situation.

I felt increasingly distant.

The day before graduation, my parents mentioned Little Brother over the phone. They said that he was becoming healthier. They also shared that he really wanted to see me so I should make a trip back.

Which I did, albeit reluctantly.

The weather was exceptionally hot in June.

The crickets were officially declaring the start of Summer.

When I finally reached our door, I smelled something strange.

I took out the key that I kept since senior high but I was unsure if it would still work.

I stuck it into the keyhole and turned it.

It worked.

The smell, or rather odor, grew stronger.

I entered the house hesitantly.

Everything was in place, not much different from when I left.

Nothing much had changed.

“Mom? Dad?” I called out.

No response.

The kitchen, study room, and bedrooms were all empty.

They must’ve gone out, I thought.

Upon reaching my own room door, I placed my hand on the knob.

I heard footsteps approaching and turned around.

A muscular man stood before me. He was a head taller than me.

His hair trailed over his well-built shoulders.

He smelled as if he hadn’t taken a shower in a long time, however. With his hands kept behind his back, he said, “Brother.”

“You’re?” I opened my room door and felt something amiss.

“Eat some candy, Brother,” he extended his left hand and in it was a round candy.

“You’re my little brother?” I asked in fear, retreating into my room.

I found the source of that stench. It was Mom and Dad, rotting in a corner.

“Eat some candy, Brother,” he repeated as he follwed me to my room.

I looked at him. There was a chopping knife in his right hand. It was the one Mom used on a daily basis.

“Candy, Brother,” he offered again.

I took out my wallet and said to him, “I’ll give you money. Get yourself better candies, alright?”

He swatted my wallet away with his left hand before shoving the candy into my hand.

“Eat it quick. It’s delicious,” he smiled. I’d never seen him that happy.

I opened the wrapper only to find an eyeball.

I couldn’t tell if it belonged to Mom or Dad.