Sunday, 8 September 2013
I have a brother. We get along fine...now. When we were kids, though, we fought like brothers often do. We'd wrestle, punch each other in the arms, and then wrestle some more. Unfortunately for me, he's 2 years older than I. Even more unfortunate is that he's 8cm taller and outweighs me by at least 20kg.
That fact never stopped me from attacking him. And it never stopped him from defeating me soundly every time.
But our squabbles never escalated higher than that - squabbles and tiffs. Because underneath the childish tension and puerile pugnaciousness (look it up) was a strong brotherly bond. And though the fights have long since ceased, that bond persists to this day.
I have a feeling this next guy and his brother won't have such fond memories.
A man in his mid 20's was brought to me after he got into an argument with his brother. Was the fight over money? A girl? What TV show to watch next? I didn't ask, because frankly after seeing the 11 stab wounds that his brother inflicted upon him, I didn't give two shits about the reason.
That's right, you read correctly - his older brother stabbed him 11 times. In the back. With safety scissors. If you've never used or seen safety scissors, those are the blunt ones that children use that require even more force than regular scissors to actually break the skin.
"Your brother did this to you? I asked, astonished. "Really?"
"Yeah," he replied. "It's pretty cool, right?"
I simply stared at him. I had no words.
"Aw man, I'm 25 years old. I guess I'm just excited. It isn't his fault, though. He's just been really stressed lately."
I still had no words. I simply cleaned his wounds, repaired them, and sent him home.
I can fix wounds. Family relationships? Not so much. Stupid? That's just unfixable.
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