I MISS YOU

by AussieTurtle

I called him Donnie. We were brothers. But that was a long time ago. ONESHOT.

I MISS YOU.

I called him Donnie.

We were brothers.

But that was a long time ago.

He wore a purple mask.

He could always calm me down.

Sometimes even make me smile.

But that was a long time ago.

When I thought of Donnie,

I would think,

He could fix anything, do anything,

Change anything, everything.

But that was a long time ago.

When I think of him, now, I think of red. I think of blood dripping precariously from the tips of his calloused fingers. I think of that lifeless, milky white, wide-eyed gaze. I think of his smile; toothy but not quite real, not quite there. I think of him standing there, very much alive, but not very much himself.

I think of bodies when I think of Donatello.

I think of death when I think of Donatello.

I think of blood when I think of Donatello. Blood. Gut-wrenching, nose-crunching blood. Everywhere. Stained on the cement and splashed up the walls, like a psychopathic painting. Its metallic stench in my nostrils, on my hands, beneath my feet. Filling the room, filling his eyes; his ungodly eyes like wells filled with unforgivable sins, splashing and taunting, telling us, loud and clear: your brother is no longer here.

I see him. I know he's there, in the darkness, right beside me. I know I should stop him, try to, at least. I know he can't be left as he is. I know it's unfair to the people, the ones left to suffer by Donatello's hands. But who are they to complain of unfairness?

All they have been is unfair. Maybe if they had cared, maybe if they could look beneath our leathery green skin, see the people who we were, instead of the monsters we could be, maybe Donnie would still be what he was, who I needed him as.

I watched him break.

It wasn't fast.

It happened bit by bit,

Crack by crack,

One piece at a time,

Like picking at a stray thread on a shirt,

And watching as that shirt,

Falls apart,

One strand at a time,

Slowly.

I'd rather watch paint dry,

I'd rather watch grass grow,

Than watch my brother die,

And I'd rather lose my life,

Than know,

The strife, the pain,

My dear Donatello could inflict.

I miss him.

I miss his smile.

I miss his laugh.

I miss his knick knacks,

His idle but ingenious inventions,

I miss him.

I miss you, Donnie.

I wish I'd seen it coming,

I wish I'd known back then,

I wish I had the answers,

But most of all,

Dear Donatello,

I wish that I had you.

He is here now. I knew it wouldn't be long.

He steps from the shadows,

His face painted bloody,

His smile twisted and cruel,

And his arms outstretched.

He was broken.

It was my turn now.

My name was Raph.

I was once whole.

But that was a long time ago.