This is just a short story I had to write for class. But when writing the story, I realised my original idea was way too big for a short story. I had to change everything, and the whole entire story is different. This is the version which I submitted for class. My original is still a project in construction, and I will post it up when finished. 

But here it is, and again, if it feels rushed or slightly ‘odd’ or just incomplete, it probably was because I had a different ending in mind when I began writing. Enjoy 🙂


It was cold and raining, and as dreary as it could possibly be. The rain was beating down on my limp body, and I was wet enough that I was sure I could be wrung out. The unfortunate consequence of forgetting ones umbrella.

However, even though it seemed so miserable as if the sky was crying, it actually seemed quite peaceful. The nasty weather meant everyone was shut up in their Victorian-Style homes, snuggled up inside with a blanket, presumably in front of a fire, with a mug of hot chocolate. I didn’t have to catch people staring at me, or hurry past–whatever they felt like. Or they might to decide to stay, and we would both have to endure a few minutes of awkward conversation revolving around him.

But that didn’t happen today. I was left alone, as I continued to walk down the slippery street.

When I finally reached the porch of my own Victorian-style home, I stopped. There under the safety of the veranda, was a package, lying neatly on the doormat. I was surprised, to be honest. In perfect little Rosewood, no one receives a package on their doorstep. You might as well have your child pass it on to another family while they were at school. Or, you would probably see them at the store. It was as if we were just a huge extended family, living all over the place. This made me feel claustrophobic, as if there was no escape.

I knew it couldn’t have been my parents who had ordered something online. My parents were out of town at the moment, on a business occasion. They were both lawyers, and what drove the Hastings family towards success. It felt odd to be alone in our large empty house. I was usually with him when my parents left for business trips, but this was the first time they had left me alone.

I picked the package up, and let myself in. Taking my shoes off, I padded in, careful not to drip water where it would stain the plush rug.

After the fire was crackling, I finally sat down to open the package, set in dry clothes, with a mug of hot coffee on the table.

The package was wrapped in plain, white paper, and had no postal address. I took the paper off, and was left with a brown box. I lifted the lid, and my heart thudded.

I was staring at my face. There, stacked carefully, were numerous photos of me, taken from distances. There where photos of me asleep, taken up close. I felt sick. However, it was then that my mind snapped, and my usual sharp mind came back. I noticed the tiny mole on the ear of the subject material of all the photos. It wasn’t me in those photos. It was him. Quinn.

My dear brother.

Quinn was my brother. We were brothers who shared the same face. We both had the same black hair, and pale skin, and dark eyes. Only visible difference was that he had a tiny birthmark on his ear. We would always compete, my parents would claim witness to that. “Quinn and Seth, my little competitive boys,” was what my mum would say.

 I think the fact that we were twins was what drove us to compete with each other. And growing up in the Hastings family with a competitive twin was not easy. My parents motivation was to win and be the best. It was drove us towards success. Of course Quinn fit in perfectly. I think that the fact we were twins was what hurt the most when he would receive the most praise from my parents.

A strip of paper read ‘Quinn’, and was placed on top of the photos. I shifted the photos aside, and there underneath was a USB flash drive. 

Quinn had died a couple of months ago. It had happened while I was at France for a student-exchange program. He had died in a car accident. That is still the exact amount of knowledge I know of my brother’s death. My parents became distant, and everything just melted away. Quinn- centre of attention in life and in death.

So why was someone sending photos of him to our house?

As I sat there alone, while the rain continued to patter against the roof, I wondered what was happening.

I suddenly shivered, the warm glow of the fire, not feeling so warm anymore. I wanted to talk to someone. What was happening? Why did my surroundings suddenly seem so unfamiliar to me?

I picked up the flash drive. What could be on it? Almost fearfully, I pulled my laptop out, and booted it up. After inserting the drive, I opened it up. I was left with one video file.

What could someone who had taken photos of my brother have on video? I was hesitant to open the video. What would I see? My brothers death? But there was nothing to see about that. Quinn had died in a car accident, when he was out of town, in the city, like my parents told me. Of course I was never there for the funeral. Quinn was already deep in the ground before I came from France.

After like what seemed an hour, I opened the video. I was watching a small white room. There was white walls, with a white floor and white bars over a small window. In the corner was a small white bed, where someone lay…

I gasped! There lying down, was Quinn. Perfect Quinn, dressed in white clothes. Where was he? What was he doing there?

The video was being filmed from the corner of the ceiling, like a surveillance camera. There was nothing else that was happening in the video. Just Quinn, lying down. His surroundings seemed so picture-perfect, like a hospital…

“Hello Seth,” someone said behind me. I jumped out of my skin. Slowly, I turned my head around. My heart stopped.

There standing in front of me was Quinn! Still in the white clothes I had just seen him wear in the video, he was standing there in front of me! Not deep in the ground where he should have been!

“Wha-…” I stammered. But I couldn’t talk! Here I was staring at my dead brother.

“I’m not dead,” he said, as if he read me like a book. “Oh no! But I guess it was much easier for Mum and Dad to say that, than the real truth.”

“You’re not dead?” I finally managed to squeak. He smiled a sick smile, and shook his head.

“Ah, Seth, you were always a scaredy-cat! I’m not dead. But speaking of death, I am here for that particular reason.” I just noticed in his hand was a sharp gleaming knife. My blood ran cold.

“What are you doing here? How are you alive?” I demanded!

“ Mum and Dad always hated me. They never loved me. It was quite obvious after they covered this all up! They just had their love for you! They didn’t want me anymore. That’s why they chucked my in that asylum! They thought I was sick! I wasn’t!” I stared at Quinn. His eyes were shining, and was shaking uncontrollably.

“They put you in a mental hospital? Why?” I asked hesitantly.

“They hated me! They didn’t like it when I would do the things I did. When I told them of the people who would watch over me! I told them my secrets! So they locked me away! And then covered the secret up by telling everyone I died!” he shouted!

My mind went numb. My parents would do that? They would lock my brother in a mental asylum, and to protect their family name, say that he had died?

It seemed ludicrous! Why was I listening to a crazy person in front of me? But it all fit. How my parents never talked of it. The funeral wasn’t held in town, but I didn’t know where. And the fact that my twin brother was standing in front of me was proof enough!

“They loved you more! So that’s why I had to come back. I had to escape! I have to get rid of you! I’m the better twin! I have to… kill you!” Those last words he muttered, and then lurched forward.

My mind was screaming to run, but my legs were numb, and still. A thousand questions were swimming in my mind, but I knew that I would never get those answers.

 Because my brother lifted that knife above his head, and plunged it down in my heart.

I was going, drifting away. To a place where there wasn’t any twins…

It was just me

 By Yashith Fernando 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s