Brothers

“Check the perimeter,” said one soldier dressed all in black to another soldier, similarly dressed.
“Perimeter is clear sir.” The two soldiers proceed to execute a standard sweep through the domicile, checking every room for possible hostiles.
“Kitchen clear.”
“Bathroom clear.”
“Basement clear.”
“All right lets head up stairs.”
At this point the two dangerously trained soldiers checked their weapons and headed up the stairs. Ever so slowly they crept not wanting to alert the enemy of their approach.
Blam Blam. Blam.
“Take cover, take cover, shots fired shots fired.”
“Sergeant Jason your hit, stay down. I will get us out of this.”
This seemingly innocent upstairs bedroom had erupted into a war zone. Bullets flying overhead, grenades being thrown, explosions encircling them, blood everywhere, it was hell on earth.
The soldiers did their best to stay calm and remember their training, they fought valiantly, but could rapidly see their enemy closing in upon them.
Blam. Blam. Blam. Aargh.


“I hit you,” screamed one of the soldiers.
“No you didn’t, I have on bullet proof armor.”
“No, my bullets can go through anything, even your armor.”
“That’s dumb.”
“Its not dumb.”
The two soldiers left alive confront each other on the battlefield. Soldiers, fighters, brothers, kids.
“You can’t say it’s dumb…your dumb.”
“What?”
The conflict had come to a head. There was no way either side could decide the victor of the skirmish for themselves, and now that harsh language had been called upon there was only one being that could ultimately decide the fate of these brave soldiers.
“Mooooom.”
“You are such a baby, always calling mom.”
“I’m not a baby. Mom, Jay called me a baby.”
At this betrayal of the code between siblings, the older brother pushed the younger brother down and with his bigger hands he held his brother’s smaller hands to the floor.
“You are a baby, baby, baby, always calling for his mommy.”
“Moooom, Jason is being mean. MOOOOOOOM.”
Both boys stopped quite suddenly when they heard the sound of footfalls on the stairwell. You can tell a lot about the mood of someone by the way they ascend or descend stairs, and the soldiers knew that by the sound of these feet, that the decider of their fate was in no mood that would bode well for them. This was the moment of truth, the younger spoke first.
“Mom, I shot Jason first and he wouldn’t die, then he called me a baby,” it was at this point that the elder interrupted.
“That’s not true, and I wouldn’t call you a baby if you didn’t act like one. Mom he didn’t shoot me first I have on armor, he can’t shoot me…"
“ENOUGH.” The words came out like steam from a locomotive, loud and attention grabbing. “ I have had enough. Look at this mess, your father is gonna be home soon and I don’t have time for this.” She let out a sigh as if she just discovered that her vinyl Elvis collection suffered water damage. “Listen I have to finish dinner, would you two please play nicely.” She turned to walk away and after a short pause turned back around, ‘what if both your sides came to a truce?”
“What’s a truce?” asked the inquisitive younger son.
“Its where both armies decide that they have killed each other enough and both decide that they are winners, so everyone lives and wins.”
The shocked look of skepticism was apparent on the faces of the two boys. The older brother took initiative however.
“Your right mom, that’s a cool idea. Listen Jamie we both can be winners, no more arguing, ok.”
“Well I guess…if you think it’s cool.”
A smile appeared upon the mother’s face. “Good, play nice boys.” With that she descended the stairs with a swift, rejuvenated pace to finish…well whatever it is that mothers do.
She continued to smile at the quiet that had erupted, the stillness, the calm…

BLAM. BLAM. BLAM.
“I hit you, you’re dead.”
“No I’m not, you’re stupid.”
“Mooooooom.”