All in the family

The Brantius family arrived in Scotland several generations ago as mere peasants. Through several strokes of luck and a long list of merciless heads of house they now unofficially ran a small town twenty miles south-east of Glasgow. Head of present day family was Albert Brantius. He was to say the least a brutal drunk but never did he miss a thing when it came to business. Ruling with an iron fist served his business well, but bruised his family in more than one sense. Albert’s stature was as intimidating as the house and fortune he possessed. He stood a good six foot four, similar height to his son Eric, slight heavy build with a mop of hair and beard so orange that he would make the perfect Scottish stereotype.
Most days would end with Albert speeding home from where he ran his empire (as he would have it deemed) in his four by four Land Rover, up his steep drive way to the town’s old library, now his humble mansion. The town’s most prestigious figures never dared question Albert’s acquisition of the Library as he built one twice the size and twice as elegant within months of having his family and belongings settled in their new place of residence. Once in his mansion Albert would do his rounds. Firstly he would be to check upon his wife, Cheryl, bed ridden with dementia but only one with a fortune such as a Brantius’ could afford medication to give her any good quality of life. Being bed ridden may not seem like good ‘quality’ living to most people but the family agreed mother being a little sleepy rather than suffering the awful effects of dementia would be best for all. Next stop would be to check upon his son who had chosen a life Albert frowned upon: Artist. ‘This world doesn’t revolve around paint and paper, it revolves around labour!’ A quote that Eric would mouth as he heard his father’s expensive Italian shoes clip-clop down the hall way to his room, the smallest room in the house.
Smiling at his latest piece of work Eric laughed at how his dad preaches about hard labour yet he strolls about without a speckle of mud upon his attire. As predicted Albert entered Eric’s room just as his inner monologue had ceased. Never would he turn to face his father as the door would creak open.
“No girlfriend around to be your muse boy?”
“No father. She’s still at work. She will be over later.”“Marvellous, I do enjoy her witty banter. You’d do good to hold onto her Eric. A welcomed addition to the Brantius family she’d be.”
Applying a soft brush stroke to his painting Eric nodded. Albert left as he did every conversation with Eric; shaking his head.
Rosemary wouldn’t display as much grandeur as her brother would upon hearing her father’s footsteps near. No, Rosemary would instead grab her duvet and upon her father’s entrance, she knew he’d see a cocoon like imagine aloft his daughters bed. Albert wouldn’t mind this display as he knew he had the power to peel that cocoon from Rosemary’s grasp. He would simply smile and part with a comment that would tighten Rosemary in the most delicate of places.


The grandfather clock that stood facing the entrance of the Brantius mansion began to chime as the second hand graced its first stop into the twenty second hour of the day. As the chimes rang out throughout the Brantius Mansion only Eric would tend to his mothers request for help.
He never wondered too much in regards to his sister and fathers late night absences from his mother’s bedside. He could envision his sister being glued to her computer and his father slumped in his study, soft light shining through his bottle of whiskey as he reminisced over another strenuous day of work.
Never bothering about his family’s selfishness would however irritate one person in particular; Eric’s girlfriend, Kirstin. Kirstin was becoming increasingly hostile towards all in Eric’s family. She would be left behind in Eric’s room whenever his mother’s bell rang out. She knew it would be a hypocrite who would highlight her woes and to drag a son from an ailing mother... On the other hand she had suspicions about Mrs Brantius. She had caught her acting far from demented on more than one occasion. Who would Eric believe though? Not likely she, no son would give an outsiders suspicions life over his mothers physical state. Watching her lover march down the hallway night after night to attend to his would be ill mother drove her crazy.
An hour passed and still Kirsten was left curled up in Eric’s bed. Thoughts of ending this facade began to dance through her mind. Over and over they would churn until she could no longer bat them away. She slid out from Eric’s solid pine bed and followed his footsteps to Cheryl’s room.
As the beam of light that escaped Cheryl’s room rose up the body of Kirsten, she stood still, only with her eyes moving to see if there was anyone nearby. Nothing but faint echoes from Albert’s study filled the darkness and with that Kirsten entered the room.
Never having been in their room Kirsten for a few moments paused in awe of its beautifully horrific contents. As if on a safari of the dead she browsed several plaques with animal’s heads all glaring at her. By the time her viewing of said items came to a halt she found herself admiring two exquisitely crafted marble cabinets on either side of where she stood. The only culture she could think to place such furniture in was Greek. Straight ahead from where she stood lay Cheryl, lying on her bed as if waiting a fitting for a coffin; no body parts loose, hands on chest, eyes shut and head sat perfectly aloft the one and only pillow on the bed. Kirsten strode forward, her socks silencing every movement with exception to one of her joints clicking as she came up next to Cheryl.
Cheryl’s eyes shot open with a speed and alertness that Kirsten’s rage for her needed no introduction. “You cannot fool us all Mrs Brantius.”Cheryl quickly adjusted her eyes and softened her face. “Did you get my coffee?”Kirsten felt no urge to humour the old woman so abandoned her manners.
“Drop this act Cheryl. You’re fooling no one but yourself.”
“I knew a fool once, boy he sure could make me laugh.”
“I’ve seen you act perfectly healthy Cheryl! You might have great medication but it’s no miracle cure!”
“Medication, I’d like some of my medication please.”
Kirsten could feel her hands grabbing onto the hair that cupped her ears, screams erupting deep within. She lunged forward and tore the large pillow from under Cheryl’s head.
“Do you need a pillow sweetheart, have mines.”
“You can have it back Mrs Brantius.” Kirsten then thrust the pillow upon Cheryl’s face and pressed either side of her head as if she were trying to compress an overloaded suitcase. Muffled cries escaped the cavities the pillow made once around Cheryl’s head. The louder they got the more Kirsten applied pressure until she heard the bedroom door creak. Immediately she halted and turned towards the door. As she looked on towards the door she was convinced that nothing was lingering out with the room she turned back to Cheryl who she could hear pleading beneath her feathered prison. “Ok! Ok!”Kirsten’s urge to kill still swam strong within her mind but she knew a confession would help the guilt, so very much. She removed the pillow and made herself tall before the exasperated woman. Another creak came from the door but Cheryl’s hand was around Kirsten’s wrist before she could make off. As Kirsten turned back to Cheryl, Rosemary leant off the wall and laid her sights on what was taking place inside the room.
Not long passed before Rosemary’s breathing began to speed up. She had finally heard the words from her mother’s mouth that softened the assumption that she was as evil as her molesting father.
“I’m sorry Rose, I’m sorry for everything...”
Rosemary knew then that her mother knew she was responsible for the door creaking, she also knew that medication or not this was her mother’s only retribution for what she’d allowed her only daughter to experience. She left the door’s side and charged down the hall to the bathroom.
As the water came careering out both taps Rosemary knew all too well if she let it flood, the water that escaped and struck the yet to be tiled bathroom floor would alert her father in the study below.
Within moments she could hear his hefty footsteps charged up the stairs and towards the bathroom. This time she didn’t turn from him as he entered the room, on the contrary, Albert was the one who felt things tightened as he opened the door to see his daughter naked in a pool of red.
“Rosie! Sweetheart! Please, not you Rosie, not you!”
As Rosemary lay across her father’s arms that just scooped her from the bath she whispered into his ear “I’m finally clean of you.”
Albert then with widened eyes pulled the plug from between Rosemary’s leg and propped her up before running off to phone an ambulance from his bedroom. For the first time in years Rosemary smiled as her father parted ways with her.
Battering his bedroom door open Albert momentarily forgot why he was where he was. Kirsten spun round leaving Cheryl mortally still on her bed.
For a second Kirsten opened her mouth to plead innocence but quickly halted herself when the images that Cheryl’s confession painted came back to haunt her. “Paedophile!”
Albert’s look of horror quickly changed. “What are you speaking about you stupid girl?”“You know fine well, just as poor Rosemary does.”
“Rosemary...” Albert said gently. “Rosemary!” He charged forward to grab the bedside phone, tossing Kirsten aside as he would an empty bottle of whiskey.
As his chubby index finger made for its third descent upon the number nine a scream pierced his ears and drew his attention from the phone. Twisting his neck round to see what merited the screams; Albert Brantius got to witness his brutish nature first hand. The force in which he’d thrown Kirsten aside had been so great that as she’d made contact with the wine cellar door she’d broke its fixture and was now all but consumed by the darkness that swam beyond the first few steps. Albert would make an attempt to grab Kirsten’s hand but he knew the reach he exerted was never that of his full potential. He turned back to the phone, pressing nine for a third time.
“This is nine-nine-nine emergency, what emergency service do you require?”Albert’s mind froze. He looked at his wife, thought of his daughter and then tears began to descend upon his beard.“Hello sir/madam?”“Ambulance god damnit, I want an ambulance!”
Albert immediately slammed the phone back upon the receiver, he knew they could trace a call and he knew they wouldn’t think twice of not sending an ambulance upon his request. Holding his chest as he looked once again at Cheryl he pleaded with his mind, with the God he so adored to wake him from this nightmare. Lying a soft kiss on Cheryl’s forehead he ran back towards the bathroom but was stopped as he glanced two officers in uniform ascending his stairwell.
“Mr Brantius, can we have a moment...”
“Actually no, I don’t believe you can, officer.”“Mr Brantius It’s about your son, Eric.”Now half way between Rosemary and the police officers Albert was stopped in his tracks. With his back still to the police he responded.
“What about my boy...”“There’s been an accident Mr Brantius, Eric was hit by a car just after leaving the chemist.”“You’re mistaken officers, my son is at home. He never leaves without notifying me.”“We pried your wife’s prescription from his hand Mr Brantius.”
“Pried?”
“Yes Mr Brantius, the impact was so severe that Eric died on impact.”
Albert began walking towards the bathroom, ignoring the officers plea’s to stop. As he stopped in front of the bathroom he turned his attention back to the officers.
“Out.”
“Sir please, we know...”“You do not know anything, anything! Leave my property before I make a call to your chief.”“You need to...”
“I need to see to my family. Now leave!”
Against their better judgement the officers turned foot and left. Albert then entered the bathroom, finding Rosemary as still as his wife where upstairs. Again he cupped her in his arms and stroked her hair, coaxing a reaction but all that moved in the bathroom was the beads of water that ran down Rosemary’s drenched hair. Placing his fingers on her pale neck he prayed for even the slightest beat, it never came. Lying his daughter down in the now empty bath he did as he done with his wife and kissed her forehead. A thousand apologies graced his tongue but all that left his body was a tear that landed upon Rosemary’s lips. As he watched his tear roll off Rosemary’s lips he could hear, what he assumed to be, the paramedics clambering down the hallway. Standing quickly as not to hinder any chance they might have of resurrecting his daughter’s life, he stepped back as they entered the room. His sight never left Rosemary, even as the paramedics questioned him about the situation. Albert then collapsed onto the toilet, gripping his chest and gasping for words. The last thing he saw was Rosemary’s eyes open.

Finding everyone, not yourself.

Finding everyone, not yourself



It had taken seven years of sporadic saving, but I had finally arrived upon the wilderness of Siberian Russia. Drunk with the scenery I heard not much of my newly acquainted Russian friends’ proposals as I unconsciously hooked my rucksack over my back. After a few polite nudges from Brasislav I was reignited with true focus and followed his lead to where we were due to spend the next fortnight.
Despite holding conversation with my friend I easily succumbed, yet again, to the intoxicating scenery. Whether I was doing so to justify leaving my girlfriend, job and family behind I wasn’t certain of but if I was acting in such a way no guilt or regret found its claws under my skin or in my mind. Emotion may have been reluctant to present itself to me, well at least in regards to my life back home. However I fear I need to confess that I am here due to life back home, well in my eyes at least. Tormented from such an early age and incapable of ever attaching myself to any art or being for more than a week seemed an impossible task for me. I knew I wasn’t empty of talent, love or dedication but whether it was picking my pen up to write and instantly feeling the need to strum my guitar, or grasping my weights and then believing I should open a book instead or more saddening having my beloved Meghan in my arms then feeling the need to be alone, I consistently battled with my troubling indecisiveness. Not only would this frustrate me to the points where I’d drink until death seemed beautiful, it would trouble those who cared for me. Each of them, both friends and family had direction, beliefs and structure and how I had grown to envy them, sometimes close to hatred on some occasions. So with scattered promises to each of those I loved I packed as little as possible and flew to Russia in pursuit of an interest that hadn’t lost its pungency since childhood.
Within days of landing in Moscow I had met Brasislav at Moscow’s city zoo. Where after spotting each another through the Perspex of the Tiger compound we seemed to draw each another in, not through some instance of love but with the love we had for the beasts behind the Perspex. Our conversations, despite the clash of dialects seemed to flow as if lost brothers. And like lost brothers I embraced him when after hours of discussion he informed me that he would take me to the far reaches of Siberia to try spot the wonderful beasts in their true environment.
Our train couldn’t reach a stop, of which there were many, without my thanking Brasislav for his generosity in bringing me along with him. He would however need to calm me on occasion and inform me the beasts where as elusive as they were beautiful; Sobering thoughts for I but never diminishable. Our train upon reaching its final terminal made an announcement that only Brasislav could understand. I of course mirrored his every move upon departure, that was until the scenery for the first time in two days remained still for me and as afore mentioned left me somewhat astounded.
I couldn’t find the patience for the time it took Brasislav’s uncle to prepare our long awaited meal. I think both he and his Uncle Vladimir knew so, so when I requested leave of their company both laughed and allowed my wanderings to begin. Not ten lunges towards the wooded area had passed when I hear Brasislav call. As i turned I noticed him holding a rifle in his hand. ‘Least you wish to fill the stomach of the beast.’ I instantly felt the fool for being so overwhelmed that I’d wish to wander into a land of such danger with nothing but my camera on my being. With a quick lesson on how to operate the arm I was soon off again, with the promise of company after lunch was had.
Hour’s had went by as had the miles and I had to depress my sense of adventure due to the demands of my stomach. The walk back brought no sense of defeat, each step I took to rejoin Brasislav and his uncle felt as liberating as the lunges I had took coming forth. I even began to hear the faint calls of my friend whilst trekking back but kept my voice mute as I knew we were but minutes apart and felt reluctant to spoil such beauty with course bellows. A twig then snapped off to my right which drew my attention from studying the footprints Id made not thirty minutes previous.
The snow that reflected from my eyes then lost its whiteness and filled with amber. I shut my eyes for which felt a year but in reality was seconds and upon reopening the tiger was no longer a possibly mirage. I brought Brasislav’s rifle to attention, but with no intent. He had told me if the impossible took place and I were to lay sight on one of the beasts that chance’s where they wouldn’t confront unless provoked. This in mind I rested the rifle by my leg, loaded but not aiming at the beast. I carefully watched the beast as it’s ear’s manoeuvred towards the direction of Brasislav and his uncle. My heart beat, loud enough to dull out my voice, rampaged inside. I was noticing his limbs slowly pull from the snow and plunge just inches ahead. I had seen this a million times on television but not a single knowledgeable word of advice found its place in my head. So I stood, as frozen as the environment around me, celebrating what my eyes portrayed but all the while paralysed with fear. The beast seemed to now dedicate an ear for the distant Brasislav, but only that as everything else seemed dedicated to me. His teeth slowly began to emerge, leaving his whiskers towering above the long amber snout. Hisses soon followed along with my presumption that keeping the gun by my leg was no longer and safe option. Lifting the gun I knew I had to rid my eyes of the what felt like a reservoir of water that accumulated from the cold winds battering my sight. However the quick blink I chose to eradicate the cold tears from my eyes was to be in vain. When I found clear sight I could see nothing but the colours of the beast that had thrown me to the ground. I tried with all my might to free myself of what felt like a giants grip but all my attempts ended with another part of my being feeling as if just hit by a bulldozer ball. All I could manage was screams but with little effort as I felt the beasts jaw tighten on my neck.
As gun fire rang out so did the beasts fangs. I could see for the split second I managed to lift my neck that the beast gave thought about finishing me off but the quicker the gun shots arrived the more agitated he seemed and as quick as we’d met, he was gone.
Russian words that I had not one piece of understanding soon filled my ears. However instead of confusing me they seemed fitting as I looked at the sky and saw more than clouds. I saw each and every face that had ever had a resounding affect on my life and realised that despite all their beauty and love that not one of them would, and I felt assured in this assumption, fathom my death out. That in mind, even as felt my life trickle across my unshaven neck, I laid not a single slice of blame on them for their would-be ignorance. It had been my decision to construct a life through the eyes of everyone but myself. Through such actions I may have forfeited my life but if I never wake again, least I know that I finally experienced life by my own accord.