...dooot....

[thejunipertree]

Walking down the hallway today, on my way to
retrieve my full-to-groaning laundry basket,
I realise that my brother's bedroom door is open.

This isn't normal, he keeps the door shut because
he doesn't apprieciate the cats coming in and
puking up little kitty puke all over his clothing
and Playstation games (sidenote: heh heh fucking
heh).

But, the door's open and I peer around the corner
of the jamb to see what he's doing. There's no
sound, which is unusual. His light isn't on,
which is also unusual. Television, off. Stereo,
off. Everything.

I see sock clad feet and I peer a little further.
He's stretched out on his belly, just lying
there. Completely motionless.

This is the part where my lovely schizophrenic
paranoia performs fucking Riverdance inside
my skull.

...he'sdeadhe'sdeadhe'sdeadhe'sdead...

Two deaths in one week? It's not so unusual that
my poor addled little brain would immediately
equate this with dead-brother-lying-on-the-floor.

I creep closer to him, unable to see whether
or not he's actually breathing. I'm holding my
own breath and I think my heart has jumped up
to hang out with my tonsils. It's tight and
thick in my throat.

*gulp*

Two fingers to press against the side of his
neck, in search of a pulse.

This is the part where he turns his face and
looks right at me.

"errrr...Hi!" I say. "Just checking your pulse."