Autobiography; Writing imaginatively.

ANY of them!                                                                I felt basically the same for the next few months, feeling sad, lonely and betrayed. Because I was so young (only four years old at the time) the time passed before my eyes and soon enough, a noisy, ugly, bald and smelly baby arrived. It went all so quickly; Mum disappeared on the Saturday, and came back the Sunday, she must have been to pick it up from the shop.                                                         I suppose I was right about my assumptions, or so I was told. The day after she ‘acquired’ it, she told me its name; Georgie. GEORGIE? I wasn’t having that… ‘IT’ doesn’t even deserve a name.                                                                The first time I saw him, (or should I have rather said ‘IT’) he seemed much easier to cope with than I had imagined; he didn’t want to steal my toys, not because he didn’t want to, it seemed like he couldn’t do anything, and to be honest, that’s the only thing I was worried about, or so I thought...                                                         Over time, I began to like my little brother; I could do naughty things and never get blamed. As I look back on it, I was quite cruel taking into consideration that he couldn’t talk or fight for himself. Over and over again I would value my brother for things that I could take advantage of him for, until my mum and dad found out.         A few days after them realising what I had been doing, the situation changed, in fact instead of me blaming Georgie, he blamed me, and it wasn’t me who they believed this time, it was him. He discovered the invention of lying and sometimes I got in trouble for things I truly didn’t do!                                                        Life obviously took a different turn and sooner or later, I just had to adjust and begin to live with it.                                                                                One time, I vividly remember coming home from school, to what some would describe as a ‘nightmare’. As my brother hadn’t yet started school, he loitered around home all day, but this day in particular was like no other. Somehow, nobody knows, he got hold of a box of matches and thought it would be funny to set fire to a stack of newspapers. As the fire spread, the whole kitchen was engulfed in flames and in no time, the whole kitchen interior was totally ruined. It resulted in many hours of renovation, labour and gut-wrenching bills. Although I was six miles in the opposite direction, at school, inevitably, I got the blame. I have no idea why, maybe it was something to do with me leaving a box of 200 ‘safety’ matches around the night before. As far I was concerned, I would have got the blame if I was on a separate planet, but yet again, I would have to pay for the crime. Three months grounding was my punishment although as again, Georgie got away with everything.                                 Slowly but surely, life had to go on whether or not I liked it. Unfortunately it didn’t get better; as my brother got older and older, he got worse and worse...                As he learnt to walk, he learnt to fight. As he learnt to talk, he learnt to talk for himself (a very bad thing!). As he learnt to ‘coincidentally’ like the toys I liked, I reluctantly learnt to ‘share’, but what he didn’t know was that I never shared – and I wasn’t standing for it. I began to perform payback as I liked to call it. This involved full length lectures upon how I was the boss and how I came first all the time, I was even bought first. Unfortunately this strategy didn’t work for too long as yet again, my parents found out. My mother and father were ‘at the end of their tether with me’ and so they treated me like a baby; they had lost all trust in me, and they constantly nagged me, usually for simple petty things.                                                        So far having a brother had its ups and downs (definitely not equal!). One memory of my brother stuck out in my mind the most; it was when the whole family went on a holiday to Spain...                                                                We were having a great time: swimming, sunbathing and most other things you do on holiday, until the ‘accident’ happened. We were all in the apartment and my mum had let me play around with Georgie and I was having a surprisingly great time, one which now I understand was too great to be true in my type of older-younger brother relationship. We were jumping up and down and my brother was naked as he had just got out of the bath. I was holding him in my hands and suddenly, he let out a huge scream and a strange noise “PLOP”,”SWOOSH”, he had done something brown and sticky … ALL OVER ME! If it wasn’t my extremely unlucky day I would have just washed it off and giggled soon after, but when there was a drought in southern Spain and you could only have one shower per week (which I had already used up), the reality kicked in that I would have to smell, and feel like the fowl, stinking mess he had just produced! After the ‘event’ I realised he couldn’t have deliberately done it so I forgave him, although there was a period of unsurprising uncontrollable anger.                                                                One thing I have gained from having Georgie in my live is having the recognition I did for saving his life, and the love, care and attention I have received for doing it. The story began when a normal daily bath became a nightmare from hell. My mum was washing my brother and for a brief period of time, she left him unattended in the room for just a few minutes, to gather his clothing together. As she walked out, I ran in - wishing to play with him to cure my boredom, and all I saw when I reached down to give him a toy was a lifeless bubbling body floating in the tub. Straight away I reacted and grabbed him out while screaming to mum,” HE’S d-d-d-d-dead! “. I frantically struggled and pushed his chest in and out like in the movies in an effort to beat the race against time to save his bitter sweet life. After a while after mum had worked on him he started breathing and although I didn’t realize it at that point, I had saved his life! Soon after, paramedics rushed in I was hailed the hero at the scene.                                                                                From that point on I began to appreciate my brother and gradually he began to get better and better as he got older and older.                                                In conclusion, there are too many stories to mention and so this leads to the present date; I’m fifteen, happy (kind of) and still with a ten year old pest of a little brother called Georgie. As I think about it, he isn’t that little anymore and I’ll tell you now, he can definitely give me a taste of my own medicine! Oh and also, he still gets away with EVERYTHING!