My big brother’s scared of moths.
He’s terrified of their fluttering wings and fat bodies that every time he sees one, I have to be on standby to retrieve the travelling insect.
He’ll call in the dead of night, begging me to get it out of his room, otherwise he’ll not go back in.
So I get up each time, putting aside rest to make sure my older brother is able to sleep easy from the one-inch predator on his wall.
I do this out of the care I can muster because
When I was small, he was my protector from something bigger and scarier than bugs
Shouting glistening off walls, and hauntings beyond my wrecking that left a deafening silence in its wake.
Each night I relive it exactly how it was, him standing in front of me, phone in hand, the flash burning into my brain, and arm slightly apart from his body to cover me.
Making sure I didn’t dare take a step to close, not beyond what he was.
Keeping me in his room as the sirens got quieter, and quieter.
Not needing to say a thing because I’d already received the message
Each night this occurred he sacrificed himself to make sure those 5’9 predators got off my wall, so I could sleep easy under his cold duvet.
My big brother’s scared of moths, but that’s ok. I was scared of something a lot bigger and scarier than bugs.
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