The ticking started early in Dud’s life, like the faint hum of a clock no one else could hear. It was subtle at first, barely noticeable against the chaos of growing up in a house full of silence and shadows. But as he grew older, the sound grew louder, sharper—a constant reminder of everything he lacked, everything someone else had.
That someone else was Mark….
Mark was Dud’s older brother, the golden child. Where Dud saw walls, Mark found doors. Where Dud stumbled, Mark soared. Mark didn’t just succeed; he thrived, basking in the praise their parents reserved only for him. “Why can’t you be more like your brother?” their father would ask, his tone clipped, his disappointment palpable.
Dud wasn’t jealous of Mark’s success—he was consumed by it. Every medal, every handshake, every approving nod from their parents was like a knife twisting deeper into Dud’s heart. It didn’t matter that Mark tried to include him, tried to share his victories. To Dud, it wasn’t generosity; it was pity.
The ticking grew louder.
As they grew older, their paths diverged. Mark went to college on a scholarship, built a career, started a family. Dud stayed behind, stuck in a cycle of dead-end jobs and half-finished plans. Their parents didn’t say it, but Dud could see the disappointment in their eyes, hear it in their silences.
When their father passed, it was Mark who gave the eulogy. Dud sat in the back row, seething. He thought about standing up, saying something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. Mark’s voice carried through the chapel, steady and sure, and Dud felt the walls closing in around him.
By the time their mother’s health began to fail, Dud had grown bitter. He visited her less and less, leaving Mark to shoulder the responsibility. “You’re better at this,” Dud would say, masking his guilt with a smirk. Mark never argued. He just nodded, as if to say, I know you’re hurting, but I can’t fix this for you.
The ticking became deafening. …..
When their mother passed, the last tether between the brothers snapped. Mark tried to reach out, to repair the broken threads of their relationship, but Dud pushed him away. He didn’t want Mark’s pity. He wanted to see him fall.
It wasn’t long before Dud’s resentment turned into action. He sabotaged Mark in small, petty ways—a rumor here, a withheld document there. Mark never confronted him, but Dud could see the strain in his brother’s eyes. It wasn’t enough. Dud wanted him to feel it, to know what it was like to be the one left behind.
The final blow came on a rainy night, when Dud, drunk and desperate, confronted Mark outside his home.
“You think you’re better than me?” Dud spat, his voice trembling with rage. “You think you’ve got it all figured out?”
Mark stood in the rain, his face a mix of sadness and exhaustion. “I never thought I was better, Dud. I just… tried.”
The words were like a match to dry tinder. Dud lunged, years of pent-up anger exploding in a single, violent moment. The fight was short, clumsy, and devastating. When it was over, Mark lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. Dud stood over him, breathing hard, the ticking in his head finally silent.
For the first time in his life, Dud had won.
But the victory was hollow. Mark’s death wasn’t just the loss of a brother—it was the loss of the life Dud could have had. A life where they were a team, where the resentment didn’t matter, where the ticking never started.
In the years that followed, Dud’s life unraveled completely. He lost everything: his freedom, his reputation, his chance at redemption. Alone in his cell, he thought about the life he and Mark might have shared, the bond they could have rebuilt.
But all that was left were daydreams of what could have been.
⏳ 😕 📝
: SDOS : 