Brick

I wrote another story for my teacher as an experiment. Usually I don't write such short stuff but this was just for fun.

Brick

By Corin McKenney

Joe sat across the room from me as we read the notes our father had left us at his death.

“Dear Jack,” mine began, innocently enough, “When I was young I managed to obtain a fortune by luck, don’t worry yourself as to how. Instead of using it I immediately had it turned into a small gold brick that I have kept ever since for a great emergency, and now it is worth much more than it was sixty years ago. I am telling you and Joe about this now that I am gone with hope that it will see you through hard times. But I fear that Joe will not be responsible with the money and may squander your half as well, you know I have always expected better things from you than from him, he is hopeless. Anyway, I have prepared a means to rid you of him and protect you from blame. The brick is hidden in the basement in the far room…” here he described thoroughly were he had concealed the gold. “When you find the brick together, run into the next room and lock him in. I have rigged the lines up so that if you turn the knob with the red handle it will fill his room with gas…” There was more to the note but it was unimportant, simply describing how to avoid blame.

I put the note in my pocket and sank into deep contemplation. Father was right, Joe was frivolous, but had he earned death by it? Joe’s voice awoke me,

“So are we going down to get it? Or see if it even exists at all?”

“Alright, let’s go.”

We descended together and paused in the first room. Joe pulled a crumpled up sheet of paper from his pocket and threw it away. My eyes couldn’t help but find the lethal red knob. It took us a long time to find the brick even with the thorough directions, but eventually we did. As I unrolled it from its cloth wrappings my mind raced furiously. My father didn’t want his money wasted, so it was my duty to do what he asked. But was it fair to Joe. I had weaknesses too, some worse than wastefulness, and they didn’t happen to sentence me to death.

The moment before I decided to ignore my father’s instructions, I saw the brick. Dull and yellow, and the size of a deck of cards, its smooth surface made me think of a rock beast’s fingernail. When I saw that lump of wealth something stirred inside me. I told myself that I was simply doing my father’s bidding, but I guess greed was there too. Putting the brick on a stool, I set off to the other room.

“I’m going to some pliers or something to see if its really gold,” I said.

“Are you kidding?” said Joe. “Something that heavy, what else could it be?” but I was already in the other room.

I kept telling my self to stop but my body continued performing its task. The wooden bar, old fashioned just like on an old barn, fell into place at my doing. The red knob also was turned by my hand, and the hiss of gas escaping came to my ears. I sat down against a wall and waited. I heard Joe’s voice yelling something from the other room and he began throwing his body against the door. His cries were getting fainter when I remembered the paper he had thrown away. I crawled over to the trash can, feeling weak from what I had just done. The paper I wanted was just on top and I snagged it and crawled back.

Joe’s bawling had stopped but there still came a light thump on the door as I steadied myself and pulled out my note. The words swam before my eyes and I thought I must be tearing up. Why had my father made me do it? It was so cruel. But I had a choice and I chose to execute my brother. With an effort I unfolded the crumpled piece of paper that was my brother’s note and read.

I stared at it, stunned. I read mine and then his again. They were identical word for word, but the names were switched. We had been offered the same opportunity to rid ourselves of each other he had tossed his in the trash. And I had done the opposite.

I raised my face to the ceiling and screamed as loud as I have ever screamed. My throat seemed to rip out of my neck, but no sound came to my ears. The lights on the ceiling dimmed and flickered, threatening to go black. Suddenly the door burst soundlessly open, the wood bar splintering. As if through a black fog I saw Joe standing there putting his shirt up over his mouth, and realization dawned. I tried to stand but my body had already weakened. My vision sputtered as he rushed over and lifted me up out of the thickest fumes. Then the world went dead.