“My brother and I have always had a difficult relationship. He was the golden boy, the one who would do great things in life. I… I was the boy with the strange haircut. I still don’t understand why my parents did that to me. Was it just one more way to say I was the lesser of the children? I…”
“Sorry, but what is this about a haircut?
A wallet was pulled out of a pocket. Inside was a faded photograph of a little boy that looked more like a girl, a cheerful smile on his face that showed a few teeth missing.
“Aaah, I’m sorry man.”
“As a teenager he got to go out with the prettiest girls. I was forced to take the girl next door. She had two chins and greasy hair. On our date she tried to stick her tongue into my mouth. I could feel my nose disappearing into her fat cheeks. The next day I was listening to my brother brag, while I was trying to convince my parents she and I could never work.”
“So you had a bad childhood. You’re doing great now. Why all that anger?”
“My brother was the first one to move out of my parents’ house. He studied, got a big shot job and moved into a grand house. After sleeping around for a while he married and got three children, a boy and two girls. Every time he came around my parents’ place he just had to rub it in. I was the loser. I couldn’t get on track.”
“Then there was this one day. I was depressed. My new girlfriend had dumped me and I was just walking around town in circles thinking what I’d done wrong now. Then my eye caught this window. It had a poster in it from the lottery. In an act of desperation I bought a few tickets and prayed to whatever god would listen. I didn’t give it much tought afterwards. I’d forgotten all about it when the news said the jackpot had been hit. Someone was stupid enough not to come and pick it up. So I found my tickets. I almost just threw them out. It couldn’t be me. There must be thousands of people who didn’t check the draw. And there it was. There were the numbers. The same numbers I had on my little piece of paper.”
“No way. You’re kidding right? That shit doesn’t happen!”
“Apparently it does! So the next week I go to my dickhead brother in my fancy new car to show him the photos of the property I bought. I thought ‘that’ll shut him up once and for all’. Maybe for once he could be happy for me and congratulate me. Well that was stupid of me to think. The bastard!”
“I’m sorry Mr. Henson, but I don’t understand what the problem is. It seems you’ve finally got ahead of him.”
“He tried to hit me with a forklift!”
This post is inspired by the daily prompt: Non sequitur