#100MonstrousPorms 64: Tikoloshe

My brother was always a jealous one.
If I had a toy, nothing would do for him
But that I give it up. And then, as soon as he had it
He didn’t want it anymore.
Threw it away. I used to play
With sticks and mud, just to watch him demand
To implore, to beg me for
His share in them. Only to realise too late
That he really didn’t care for them.

We grew older, but he didn’t change.
If I liked a girl, then he would have eyes for no other.
Soon enough, I stopped courting. It always brought nothing but trouble.
But his jealousy did not so much subside
As shift, to our neighbours, our friends.
The most beautiful girl in the world might smile
At him, and he wouldn’t notice. So entranced was he
By the ill favoured, bad tempered girl
Who, by coincidence, had the heart of the boy next door.
He couldn’t be happy, and yet discontent
Seemed to please him better than anything.

He went to the doctor. And you know the doctor I mean.
Not the one who cures stomach upsets, and who sets broken legs:
The one who can curse your enemies.
For my brother, this was pretty much the whole of the world.
But the boy next door and his scowling, sullen girlfriend
They bore the brunt of that visit
The boy died, his girlfriend,
perhaps not so sullen
Just quiet and misunderstood by everyone except her beloved
Went mad out of grief.
Of course, that didn’t matter to my brother.
Because once she was no longer loved by another
She was nothing to him but sticks and mud.
But there was still a doctor’s bill to pay.
And he had promised the soul of somebody he loved.
I thought he had played a clever trick there
Because my brother never seemed to love anyone much.

But it seems, after all, that somebody meant something to him.
The one who always gave up the toy when he asked.
Even the sticks and the mud.
The one who would give him anything.

The doctor came to me in the night
And performed the operation.
My very last gift to my brother: my soul for his debt.
Perhaps after all he could not even stand
To even let me have that.

So now, in my shrunken and shuffling form
Perhaps it is time for me to take something back for myself.
So give me the warmth of your fire.
Give me the air in your lungs
Give me the life in your blood.
I am, after all, not my brother.
I, at least, appreciate the sacrifice of others.