By Evilevergreen
The red headed man with the brown blazing eyes slowly fell to his knees as he clutched his side. But no matter how hard he pressed his hand to the wound, the bright red liquid seeped through the cracks of his fingers. He placed his free hand on the floor, which he noticed had a thin layer of dust and thought it strange to have noticed it at this point in time.
And as he looked to the floor, he felt the light that had once shone upon his back become blocked. A cold shadow now stood over him. "Why?" he asked as tears build in his eyes.
"Look at me, Brother," said the figure that stood before him. The red headed man on the floor would not move. "I said, 'look at me'!" The figure demanded.
The wounded man decided it was in his best interest to obey. He had to live through this, not for himself, but for the woman who loved him and his two little girls.
He rose his head slowly, his eyes first fell upon the shoes of his attacker, they were black, and to his surprise still clean. The next thing that caught his eye was the gold, jewel encrusted handle of the knife in his attacker's hand. The blade dripped with crimson blood, the essence of the wounded man's life. He then noticed that the hand that was holding the knife shook slightly, as if nervous, but he still had a tight grip on the handle.
Then finally, the wounded man looked upon his attacker's face. And there he saw a man with dark red hair and blazing brown eyes; he saw his own face, the mirror image of himself. He saw his flesh, he saw his blood, he saw his most beloved friend, his most beloved brother, his twin brother. "Why?" he painfully asked again.
His attacker dropped to one knee and let his hand with the knife rest on the other. "Because I have shared a lot of things with you, Brother, but I will no longer share her heart," an evil grin spread across his face, "or my precious children."
"They're my children!" Anger rose within the fallen man at the mention of his kids, his kids.
The attacker lifted his rested hand and gently put the blade against the other's neck. "So very wrong, Brother." He then applied more pressure, making his victim's face wince. He could feel his brother's rapid heartbeat pulsate through his neck. He knew his brother was scared and he liked it. He like knowing that he was now his brother's God, for he alone chose whether or not this fallen man before him lived or died. "But don't worry yourself Brother, I'll take very good care Angelina, just like I always have."
"Brother," the wounded man said slowly and painfully as the blade had slightly nicked his skin. "I still love you."
"Love me? You still love me!" he yelled, but then sighed heavily. "That's just like you, isn't it?" he said with a harsh, but melancholy tone. "Your life is in my hands, yet you pity me? With your love?" He rose his head in defiance. "I don't need your pity, Brother. And just so you know," his eyes were void of any type of warmth. His once fiery brown eyes were now dull and dark, as if in the last few moments, his soul had been ripped from his body. "I hate you. Do you hear me? I hate you with the passion of a thousand suns." His words were like acid rain on an already decaying building.
The wounded brother then felt the metal of the cold dagger slice across his throat. He heard his blood spatter across the floor and watched it as it form into a river of blood. He dropped to his side and with both hands held tightly to his neck as he grasped for air.
His brother stood over him and then kicked him onto his back. His brother, his attacker, and now he guessed his murderer, watched as he bled out. His attacker placed his foot on the dying man's chest, as if declaring victory. He then looked down upon the face of the bleeding man. "There was a time, when I would have died for you," his words were sincere. "You were my best friend." His eyes became soft and his words were shaky. "But I can no longer live my life as half of a whole. And as long as you breathe, as long as you live, I fear I can never be whole." He watched as his brother took his final breath and his eyes slowly closed and his arms fell limp to his side. "So rest in peace, Brother."
He took a step back and let the soiled dagger fall carelessly from his hand and clattered to the ground. He then simply turned around and walked away. For no longer was he 'Fred and George' or 'George and Fred' or even 'Forge and Gred'. He was no longer a part of him, for he was now one, he was now finally. . . whole.
THE END
A/N: First off, I know I wrote it, but I'm really not sure, who is who, so please don't ask. Second thing, does it make a good one-shot or should I make a story that tells you how they got to this point?
A/N - 5/13/05: I did have a story started to go with this one shot, but I lost it when my computer crashed. I've decided I'm not going to rewrite it, so this will stay a one-shot.