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Rated: E · Other · Contest Entry · #1809117
Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.
“I’ll carry the flashlight,” I announced to my idiot brother Jerome and his fat friend Oscar. “I’m the oldest.”

Jerome was in my face in a second. “Why should you get the flashlight?” he shouted.

“Because I’m the oldest,” I answered.

“Jerk,” said Jerome.

“Weasel,” I answered.

“Cut it out, you guys,” said Oscar. “We’ve got to finish packing.”

I saw Oscar stuff something into his backpack and I couldn’t believe it. “A water pistol?” I howled.

“Just in case,” he mumbled, looking away. “It’s a night hike. You never know what’s up there at the Point.”

“It’s a water pistol, Oscar,” I pointed out.

“So what? It looks real,” said Oscar.

We took off. The moon was full but it was dark in the trees as we filed onto the narrow trail up to the Point. I said, “I’ll lead.”

“Why should you lead?” yelled Jerome.

“Because I’m the oldest,” I answered.

About a half mile up the trail, high above the creek, I heard Oscar yell. I turned around. He was already over the edge, rolling like a boulder into the ravine. “Oscar!” screamed Jerome.

I scrambled down, grabbing for tree roots and sliding on dead leaves. I crashed into the creek at the bottom and found Oscar, tears mingling with blood flowing from somewhere under his hair. “It hurts,” he wailed, holding his ankle. “I think I broke it.”

I yelled up at Jerome to take the trail back home.

“What about you guys?” Jerome shouted.

“I’ll bring Oscar the other way, along the creek,” I called.

In the hospital waiting room with our parents, Jerome said to me, “I can’t believe you carried him -- he weighs a ton. Why didn’t you wait for help?”

“Because he was crying,” I answered, “And I’m the oldest.”


(Word count: 299)
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