Focal Enemy | ✔

Rancour (longstanding bitterness)

As another bottle was deemed empty, Theodore found himself throwing it at the far wall. It did not bounce back to him, though, filled back to the brim. Instead, it hit the concrete and created a sharp, ears piercing bang, before shattering into a million, fine, dangerous pieces which sprinkled on the floor like confetti.

“You need to sort yourself out. I know she’s gone, but this won’t earn her back.”

“What do you know?”

Theodore dropped his hand from his head and looked up. There was a boy, almost identical to himself, standing in the doorway, staring between the broken bottles and his broken brother. The only recognisable difference was that one was happy, and the other had not smile genuinely in years.

Theodore looked down at his knees, putting both hands back on his head.

“How did you know she left?”

“Good guess, I suppose,” said Charlie, shrugging his shoulders as though he hadn’t a care in the world. “When did she go?”

“Don’t know. I can’t remember.”

His reply was spiteful. It made Charlie flinch.

“What do you want, anyway?” Theodore snarled. “Didn’t come when I needed you, so why are you here now? I don’t want you here.”

Desperately, he was trying to cling onto whatever trace of sanity the world had not taken from him. There was a glass bottle beside him, and it was taking every strength in his body to refrain from sending it in Charlie's direction. Theodore would have given all he had to wipe that smug look off of his face.

Charlie did not say anything. He knew he could not.

Theodore sipped from a new bottle.

“Just get out.”

There was a look of amazement on Charlie's face, but Theodore’s eyes did not linger to see how long it took for the words sunk in. He supposed that it had took a few moments, because it felt like quite a while before Charlie opened his mouth.

“You’re my brother, Theo. Always remember that.”

His feet shuffled across the floor, the sound of scuffing echoing in the empty house. In many ways, Theodore related to the house he lived in. Both of them were as hollow and empty as each other. The only difference was that Theodore could make himself full again so long as there was a bottle or a fag on his lips – or so he hoped.

#

The wind was strong, stronger than it had been in a long time. The flames were curving, dancing like there was no tomorrow, but Theodore did not see the beauty in it. He heard the sirens and the firemen’s boots pounding as they sprayed his home and the home of others with water.

“No!” screamed Theodore. “No!”

The fireman tightened his grip round his waist.

“Come on,” said the man. “These people are here to take you somewhere safe.”

It was hard to hear with the hysterical screaming off the occupants of the flats that had managed to get to safety. Theodore searched them, searched their faces in hope that the rest of his family was safe, too, but he found no one.

“Mum!” he screamed. “Dad! Charlie!”

“Theo.” Charlie was sitting in the back of a black car, paler than Theodore had ever seen him. “We have to go, Theo. I’m here.”

“No!” Theodore fought the fireman’s grip. “Mum! Dad!”

“They’re dead!”