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The jawbone

He was there with him. Just the two of them.

And also with him, between them, was all of his pride. That’s why he hated him above everything else: because of that unnerving way of being, so perfect, so loved by his parents, so understanding of others.

And so they were far from home, in that tiny altar he put so much time into. And a few steps away, there was a jawbone from a donkey or maybe a cow.

Anyone would say that he didn’t think about it, that it was a moment of madness, but it wouldn’t be true. He went through that scene in his mind hundreds of times before, enjoying each and every detail of it, doing that murderous gesture again and again.

And yet, when he turned into reality what was only allowed in his imagination, something didn’t go as it did in his dreams: the stupid and forgiving look of his brother, as if he understood the motive behind the agonising eyes of his sibling.



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