Brothers

Mark slipped the blade of his straight razor between the gun cabinet's doors, crowbarred it open, and with one gloved hand, brought down the shotgun from the top rung. He pulled two shells from the unlocked drawer below and slid them into the barrels, snapping the gun shut with a flick of his wrist. "Woo hoo, good times," he said, repocketing his blade, and took off for the second floor.

Ned Jr. was on his knees in his room, placing blocks one on top of another and knocking them down with a swipe of his skinny arm and a jabbering howl from his pursed lips that shook the bangs of his bowl cut. Mark tapped on the door with the butt of the gun, sliding it behind his back as Ned Jr. looked up.

"What's up, little man?"

"Hi-"

"Whatcha doing?"

"Playing King Kong." Ned Jr. looked down at Mark's hand. "Why are you wearing that glove?"

"My hand's cold-"

"Oh-"

"Is Maury taking good care of you?"

"I hate it when they leave me with him. He's boring-"

Mark laughed. "Tell me about it-" And he closed Ned Jr.'s bedroom door as the boy resumed being an ape. Four steps and he was inside Maury's room, the butt of the shotgun in his armpit, the open ends of the barrels on the boy's forehead. "Hi."

"What the fuck, dude?"

"You didn't say I couldn't come back-"

Maury grabbed the waistband of his jeans. "You can suck my dick, dude-"

Mark jabbed the barrels forward, two perfect red circles swelling instantly over Maury's expressionless face. "Shut the fuck up-"

"Ouch, man, that shit hurts." Maury put a hand to his forehead. "Why are you doing this?"

"You did it-"

"I didn't do nothing, man-"

"Sit there and get some paper and a pen." Mark pointed to Maury's desk with the gun. "You've got to write a letter to your stupid fucking parents, telling them why you killed yourself-"

"I won't fucking do that-"

"And Ned Jr.-"

Maury got up and sat down at his desk, pulling a pack of looseleaf paper and a pen from the top drawer. "Don't hurt my little brother-"

"Are you gonna do it or not?"

"Fuck you-"

"Dude, it doesn't have to be Shakespeare-"

"Don't hurt my little brother is all I ask-"

"Okay." Mark snorted a meatball of snot down his throat. "I'll dictate, you write. Since you're about as bright as that little retard in there-"

"You're lucky you have that fucking gun-"

"Dear Mom and Dad-"

Maury picked up the pen with a shaking hand and began writing, the first letters smearing with a tear that dropped from his eye. After he signed his name, he turned to Mark, who placed the barrels of the gun back above his nose. "Please don't-"

And Mark pulled the trigger, watching as the top of the boy's head detached itself from the rest of his body, the fragile bone dragging along with it hair, blood, brain, neurons, synapses, capillaries, and everything else that once resided just above and behind his best friend's face. The remaining parts of Maury fell sideways onto the floor, and Mark gave the ass one last good kick, then turned slowly at the noise behind him. He took a step forward and put a gloved hand over Ned Jr.'s mouth. "Have you ever been raped and murdered?" he whispered.