Fic © Silverfox Characters © WEP Written for FlashFiction Challenge 2007

 
 
A/N: I don't do well with story length limits. This originally ended up at 1700 words and after the struggle cutting it turned out to be I'm actually surprised I was able to get it down to 1000 words at all, even if I am not entirely happy with the result.

My Brother's Dream

I have always wondered why my parents chose my name. They can't have known its meaning. Most of the time it didn't matter anyway. They just called me the Runt. It was my brother that was important.

Few actually knew that I'm the older brother. I was born an hour before him, our mother said. I'm not sure the information is reliable. A woman in labour has other things to worry about and it was a difficult birth. An estimate of time made under such conditions should never be trusted.

I was born first, though, a tiny, weakly child, a disappointment. If I'd been a kitten they'd have drowned me and called it a mercy killing. After me followed my brother, though. I suppose I was the price they had to pay for having him.

It is normal that one twin is stronger than the other, but even experienced doctors were surprised at the extent of the difference. It rather increased over time which might have been due to my frequent illnesses, or maybe our family had something to do with it.

Even the most distant ancestors I know of were or are soldiers. I have quite an impressive number of commanders in my pedigree, good ones, bad ones and a completely disastrous one whose name we never mention in public.

Big, strong babies grow into big, strong soldiers and nobody in our family had ever seen a bigger or stronger newborn than my brother. It was only natural that such a promising child would receive everybody's attention. A useless runt is so easily overlooked.

It was obvious from the start that I wasn't cut out for a big career in the army. My parents worried that I couldn't even pass basic training. They saw no future for me.

The first person to ever see me as something worthwhile in me was our first teacher. I still remember my surprise at what he said when one day my mother enquired after our performance: "I've never taught a smarter boy." He too expressed surprise at the contrast between me and my brother.

I'd do well at the science academy, teachers kept telling my parents. I'd be the first of my family not attending the warrior academy, but they'd never expected me to do well there anyway.

My brother smiled encouragingly and nodded when I told him. Then he told me of the armies he'd command and aliens he'd fight.

"When I'm supreme leader," he'd say and we all knew it'd happen. "You'll be my scientific advisor, or something."

Those were bad times for us. Sometimes it seemed like a member of our family was hit in every attack. Our father lost his right arm in an explosion and a laser wound left Mother with a permanent limp.

It was when our grandfather died of a shrapnel wound that I started to have a dream of my own.

"I'll kill those aliens," my brother promised. "I'll take all my armies and kill every last one."

"I'll become a doctor," I decided. "If they'd had more doctors, grandfather wouldn't have died."

About half a year later on a cold and windy autumn day my brother went out to play with his friends. I opted to stay inside and read. I think it was a book about chemistry that I'd picked out to prepare myself for the science academy.

It must have been interesting, for Mother had to come and get me at dinnertime. She was surprised to find me reading, because my brother hadn't shown up for the meal either and she'd expected to find us playing together.

When my brother still hadn't arrived by the end of dinner Mother sent me out to find him.

I didn't have far to go. He lay under a tree about a minute's walk from the house, his body oddly twisted and a broken branch half buried under it. He'd always loved climbing trees.

I don't remember clearly what happened after that. A few random facts are burned into my memory, though. I remember the sticky feeling of my brother's blood on my hands, how strange his skin felt, blood soaking my clothes. They told me my uncle heard me calling my brother's name and found me clutching and shaking his dead body calling "Nestor! Nestor!". I cannot remember that my uncle picked me up and carried me home.

It was the first time I saw death. I'd lost family members to it already, but I'd never actually seen a dead body not even an animal's.

Back then it shocked and horrified me. One grows used to everything.

The last great hope of our family was gone, our future lost. I, the useless one, should have died instead. Or so it seemed.

I gave up my dreams. For the sake of my family I went to the warrior academy, for them I quit early and fought as a common soldier. I learned every dirty trick I could to survive and against all odds I lived through all battles.

Watching all those hopeful young officers coming out of the academy every year, I see that my brother would have risen fast when I was struggling to survive another day, but there comes a time when strength and courage will get you no further. I understand now that he would never have made it past that point. He would have made a more impressive soldier than I, but would never have impressed my mentors. His supporters would have been soldiers like himself when it is politicians that make commanders.

Nestor would not have been able to manipulate them as I do. He would never have thought of making the deals I did. He couldn't have devised the strategy that won me my position. He did not have the intelligence.

They haven't dared calling me Runt for a long time. I was named after the human goddess of revenge, Nemesis. I guess you could say I grew into it.