He stood at the edge of the pier and gazed straight down into the dark blue depths. He could barely see the struggling body of an older woman. He watched until the struggling weakened, either from a lack of oxygen or from the realization that the heavy object she was tied to wouldn't give.
He turned and walked down the pier with the same blank face he always harbored. If he spoke his thoughts, the empty beach would have heard him musing over the idea that drowning gives a sense of peacefullness. That the older woman was nice enough to go in peace after a bit of struggling.
But the boy never spoke his thoughts or revealed them on his face, so the beach occupying a lone seagull could only see a boy that looked like an exact replica of his father walking towards a house.
Of course, it was his father that made him this way. It was the father that killed the boy's twin for being the weaker one.
"Weakness isn't a strength."
It was Father that whipped the young child for crying when he found his brother that was barely minutes older with bruised and cut up skin, sporting a black eye, and a pool of dark blood dripping off the top bunk of their beds.
"Emotion is weakness."
It was Father that gave the same cuts and bruises when the boy found the hidden note from the deceased brother, telling him to be strong to give his death meaning. The older one knew that he was the stronger one, but couldn't let the old man kill his innocent little brother.
"Strength is key."
Which is exactly why he didn't glace back when his own mother let her last breath of air rise, breaking the surface of the still water.
He wouldn't shed a tear for all who died by his hands, those who had the terrible luck of being his family.
He would shed the tear the moment Father cried for the brother's life. But that will never happen.
His father will never care.
So neither will he.
