Cursed

I am cursed. Some days I think it was sheer happenstance that the curse landed upon me. It is always on my mind; I cannot escape it. It is always there, lurking, waiting to tear me apart with its cruel, gaping jaws before going dormant again: but never gone, never gone.

At times when I feel at peace with the world, I think that the curse is no big deal, that I can live with it. Other days I want to curse it back, scream and black its eyes. Often I feel alone: just me and the curse.

I would never wish this curse on anyone else. But, of course, I am not its only victim. My own brother has recently been covered in the curse's shadow. And how did he react? He didn't. The curse is cunning: it creeps upon you slowly, not attacking you until it is too late. One day, though, my brother will know the true nature of the beast. When that time comes, he too will want to curse the curse, to scream and black its eyes. But, when he's done rebelling and is ready to cry, he won't be alone. He'll have me.

I am cursed. Now I think that it is not coincidence that I was cursed first. As my brother lives under the curse's shadow, I will be there to walk with him, give him a leg up, and carry him when he falls. When we are cursed together, it's not so much of a curse after all.