TM Prompt #276: Sestra
"Are you an only child? Write about your siblings or lack thereof."
I had two brothers. They were both big boys, muscular and tall, with dark hair and blue eyes. Handsome.
Mikhail was shot in the head when I was small. He was the oldest; Piotr was nine, and I was only four years old. I do not remember much of it. Mikhail died when he was fifteen years old, shot down like a dog for the crime of being born a mutant. He saved Piotr's life.
Piotr was away from us for a long time. He was smuggled to America, where he worked in Little Odessa for the Russian mafia. He was never proud of this, but I know he did it because he had no choice. My brother was a good man. Eventually he went to Xavier's, and there he worked hard to learn things. He became an X-Man. On April third, it will be exactly one year since I lost my second brother. We are holding a wake for him, here at Xavier's, on the sixth.
Piotr used to call me 'snowflake.' Something small and beautiful and harmless. He was an artist, and if our lives had been different perhaps he would have made a living at it. He was very good. He had crappy taste in men, but there are none of us perfect. He was a loving, caring person and I could not ask for a better brother. He would fight for what was right, and not stop until he had won.
Piotr and Mikhail were heroes. Good, strong men with no evil in their hearts. They lived to help other people, these men. They never wanted to hurt anyone.
I am nothing like my brothers.
I had two brothers. They were both big boys, muscular and tall, with dark hair and blue eyes. Handsome.
Mikhail was shot in the head when I was small. He was the oldest; Piotr was nine, and I was only four years old. I do not remember much of it. Mikhail died when he was fifteen years old, shot down like a dog for the crime of being born a mutant. He saved Piotr's life.
Piotr was away from us for a long time. He was smuggled to America, where he worked in Little Odessa for the Russian mafia. He was never proud of this, but I know he did it because he had no choice. My brother was a good man. Eventually he went to Xavier's, and there he worked hard to learn things. He became an X-Man. On April third, it will be exactly one year since I lost my second brother. We are holding a wake for him, here at Xavier's, on the sixth.
Piotr used to call me 'snowflake.' Something small and beautiful and harmless. He was an artist, and if our lives had been different perhaps he would have made a living at it. He was very good. He had crappy taste in men, but there are none of us perfect. He was a loving, caring person and I could not ask for a better brother. He would fight for what was right, and not stop until he had won.
Piotr and Mikhail were heroes. Good, strong men with no evil in their hearts. They lived to help other people, these men. They never wanted to hurt anyone.
I am nothing like my brothers.