100 Years of Solitude

by Logan Parker

They are a family, if perhaps a little broken. A series of snapshots of the lives of the Curtis brothers' and their friends from scenes throughout the book. May contain violence and language in later chapters. Now complete.

5. Chapter 5

Scene 5

Revenge is a funny thing. A useless thing. A pointless thing. Revenge is something, that when achieved, brings along a sense of accomplishment. Like we've done something to be proud of. Like we've righted a wrong. Like busting in the face of a kid I didn't know would change the outcome of the past few days and weeks. Like screaming and cursing and kicking would prove to God that we were worthy of whatever fate we wished he would grant. That we were worthy.

So I guess, if I had to have a reason, that would be it. That we were trying to prove something. To someone. To God. To Johnny. To our parents. To ourselves. And maybe, for a split second, I thought that that was exactly what we were doing. And that we were winning. And that we were right.

And then I saw my brothers- fighting with anger they shouldn't have. An anger that no one should have because this world shouldn't make anyone that angry. And then I saw Dallas- fighting for the one person he cared about in the only way he knew how. And I remembered that they were only kids. That I was only a kid too, in some ways.

And then I saw them. The socials. The bleary-eyed teens fighting with anger they shouldn't have. Fighting for a person they cared about in the only way they knew how. And I remembered that these were kids too. That they were me, us, with different clothes. With different names and homes and parents that really were much the same as ours.

We were fighting for Johnny. For a sixteen-year old kid lying in a hospital, never to walk out again. They were fighting for Bob. A kid about the same age, lying in a coffin, under six feet of soil. I realized in that moment that they wanted revenge as much as we did. I realized that the kid who held my brother under a fountain of water in a relatively safe park was dead- and that information didn't bring satisfaction. I wasn't satisfied. I wasn't worthy.

Because this was not what Johnny wanted. This was not anything. Nothing but a fight between kids with too much time on their hands. Kids that were all battling against something. Probably that something was the same thing.

As the other side ran off with threats that "this wasn't over" and my side hollered "we had won" I felt like a soldier fighting pre-scripted war. The score was us one, them one, as it always would be. Because in a game where points equals human lives, it is sometimes hard to keep score.