Looking through my old scrap books is always fun. I get to smile at all the memories from the past and I feel so nostalgic! I don't remember this scrap book too well, though… Each time I turn the page, I am so surprised at what I find. There are tons of drawings that I made with Arthur and there are tons of drawings that Arthur made, too. Ah, there are even portraits of us together! I'm also surprised because there are even pages about Francis and Arthur was the one who set this scrap book up for me. I only have one other scrap book involving Francis, but that's all from visits to him, there really isn't anything about our past in any of them. I have to remember to give Arthur a call and thank him for this scrap book. I wonder if he even remembers…
Smiling like a fool at the so old, yet now so clear memories, I turned the page to find they were stuck together. A look of confusion flew across my face and I slowly and carefully pealed the two pages apart. I was surely taken aback by what I found. Two pages covered in nothing but pictures and drawings of Alfred and me. I began to tremble as the memories began to flood into my mind. Those terrible, terrible memories from so long ago that I tried to kill and replace. They were only hiding…
A specific memory came to the surface of all the other so very, very vivid memories. This one was the clearest. And also the worse. I dropped the book and fled the room, hoping that getting away from the book would somehow free me from the memories. It didn't work. They stayed. And they played over and over again in my head. I remember those times with Alfred better than anything else I could think of. The images were even clearer in my mind than the shape of the bottles of maple syrup that are sold in countless souvenir stores around my country. Even when I crawled under the blankets in my bed, they wouldn't leave! If anything, the darkness made them worse…
Alfred stalked towards me. I already had my hand over my warm, red cheek and I had tears in my eyes. What more did he want? I knew what he wanted, of course. He wanted so many things. But they were all not to my liking, nor were they for my benefit. A twisted grin covered Alfred's face. Each and every time I see that grin, I feel more and more broken. How can my brother be so cruel? I didn't want to believe it. No… It can't be true. It's all a dream, right? How childish, this is reality and I know that, I can't get away. He grabbed my shirt collar firmly and shoved me against the wall. Alfred was really scary, but I dared not say that out loud. That would make it worse. Alfred was strong; he could do whatever he wished to me.
He punched the side of my face that my hand had just recently been covering and laughed. He laughed at my pain. He let go of my shirt and I slid to the ground. I tried to crawl away, but he pulled my hair, making me stay put. I would cry and beg for him to spare me the pain, but I knew that it wouldn't do anything. I had tried that before. He didn't care about me, no, not at all. Alfred pulled me by my hair and dragged me through the room, as if I were a toy.
Tears ran down my cheeks in a steady stream as I dragged about the room. It hurt a lot. But I think what hurt more was that Alfred, my dear brother, was the one doing this. I loved him very much. I wanted to be closer to him. But the only time he was kind to me was when we were in the presence of Arthur. And Arthur was never told of this abuse because Alfred merely threatened me with more of it if I informed him of it. So in Arthur's eyes, Alfred was a wonderful, kind child and I was a quiet, clumsy child. Neither of those was true and Arthur still doesn't know.
