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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Emotional · #1821110
Writer cramp prompt
I wonder why I was making an offer on that house.

It was so far away in my mind. A piece of a past I never accepted was over. This little piece of my life, I had to keep it fresh, anew. It alone was a reason to take another breath.

I didn't even tried to argue over the price. I make a ridiculously high bid, and it was mine in an instant. Sure, there was all this paperwork, both futile and meaningful, but to any human being, it was mine. The house of my childhood. My house. My house, forever.

I didn't buy it as a part of your average millionaire fantasy. Not to satisfy any ego, whether it was mine or the one of my birthgivers , who wanted the very same place. I call them birthgivers, because no matter how much I talked to them, or how many words we exchanged, I never felt any connection. No feelings were exchanged. But with my brother, it was totally different. I went to the highest room of the house, which was quite small. Then, for the next five hours, I took all the objects from my boxes, and replaced it exactly like how it was in my memory.

That time, it was the only one in which I felt close to another human being.

My brother was 8 years, 3 months and 9 days older than me. In the last month I saw him, I frequently saw him making lists, and packing boxes. But when I asked him what he was doing, the only answer was the tears in his eyes.

That day. My tenth birthday.

I loved, and in fact I still love, making cities with my Lego bricks

It was the last time he ever played those with me. It was the last time I ever saw him. For that day, he pulled out his biggest smile. He was the happier I have ever seen him. The whole day we spended creating our perfect Lego world meant so much to me. I hope it meant as much to him
I guess I'll never know.

When I woke up, the following day, I went to wake him up. And he was gone. It struck me like a thunderbolt. He was gone. And even from the height of my ten years, I knew he wouldn't come back. He had abandoned me.

He was just gone.

And I cried. I cried. After that, I cried again. Not a note. Not a message. The only human being I had loved was gone. Forever.
For decades, I tried to find him , by every mean you could think of. No success. I still hate him for what he did, and can't help to feel egoist. I'm sure he had a good reason

He must had one.

No?
Today, I brought the house. I recreated the memory, and I gave up on searching for him. He is gone. I have to accept that, or dwell on accepting that. But I don't need to find him.

Our mind makes the memories better than how it was. Or it forgets them. So, now, I don't need him.
Being at the same place, with everything identical, revived this memory. More perfect than ever.

It's my perfect world.

Don't I have the right to be happy?

(559 words)
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