Story.

Once upon a time on a cold February morning, a mother gave birth to two of the most beautiful identical twin boys. Erik Nathaniel and Justin David. It wasn't that their faces were as pure as anything you've ever seen. It wasn't their soft brown hair. No, it was the color of their eyes. Something you've never seen. A radiant flashing blue that shone. And on days they were sad, they were gray. On their happiest days, they were vibrant. Almost fake. For Justin, they glittered the brightest on the day he finished his first car with his father. For Erik, it was the day he met his first true love at the nearest coffee shop.

And the mother adored both boys. Showered them with gifts and love. The father showered them with love and knowledge of the world. Justin became his right hand wing-man. Erik became the mother's pride and joy. Excelling in every subject in school and destined to be a lawyer, like his mother, or architect. Their lives weren't ordinary. They lived in the largest house in town. The mother was the owner of her own large law firm and the father was a mass collector of luxury and exotic cars and once held the title for owning the most in the US. Yet, the boys were brought up to not be spoiled, only rewarded. Luckily, for both, they excelled in everything. By the time he was 12, Justin knew exactly what made a car run and all its parts. By 9, Erik could define every law vocabulary word you'd name.

But at 17, tragedy struck. The house was dark. Mother was at work, as she often was. The nannies were all fired, for the boys no longer needed them. The maids were off duty. Erik was off spinning in abandoned factory parking lots with the girl he wished he could have, but never looked at him that way. Justin slowly opened the door.

"Dad? Why aren't you working on the jag? I'm not doing it alone." He flipped the welcome room's lights on. The ceiling lit. The stairs lit. Silence. He heard a faint radio playing. Sports talk. He followed the noise to the basement. His hair stood up on his arms. He laughed it off and pictured his father sculpting another car in the basement on paper at his desk and now was excited to see what kind. Yet, his feet told a different story as he quietly crept down the stairs.

"Dad?" He called once more. His insides were screaming for him to leave. As if they knew something he didn't. He rounded the corner. And that's when he saw it.

By the next morning, none of the boys spoke a word. Hospital nurses ran by. Doctors were consoling a distraut mother breaking at the knees. Erik held onto his mother and became her support. Justin. Justin was no longer himself. That night in the basement, his soul went with his father's. And now he was a hollow shell whose eyes never came back.


--This was something I wrote years ago about Erik and his brother. I'd finish typing it but, it's long and I'm at work. I'll continue later.