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“Goodnight, Tom.” “Night,” I answer. Bill doesn’t know this will be his last night ever.

It seems to take ages before he finally sleeps. I look at him for a while to make sure he won’t wake up. It would ruin it all.

It had been this way from the very first beginning. He always had to stay in the front at photo shoots. And even when he got in the back, the photographer replaced him to his position. Was he really so much prettier? In my opinion he was still the slightly feminine part of an identical twin. Maybe it was because he is the front man. But does that make him so important? Like his voice is so special… I mean; there are so many people with a beautiful voice. You simply have a voice and he is blessed with the fact to be a good singer. You can do it, or you can’t. But playing the guitar isn’t the easiest thing. You have to learn a lot and not everyone is predestined to be a good guitar player. You need perseverance, patience and just after practicing a hell of a lot you can rather master it. I finally learned it after some years and who gets all the attention? Right. The one who’s born with his ‘instrument.’

Bill breathes peacefully and moves hardly, from which I notice he’s in a deep sleep. I carefully lift the blanket and sit right up. To my great relief Bill doesn’t react. I place my feet on the cold floor and get up to take a waistcoat. When I walk along the mirror, I decide to also put on some jeans, because a boy who’s just wearing a wide boxer and a way to enlarged waistcoat does look pretty stupid.

We were just famous for a few weeks, and received our first fan mail. I proudly read all the letters written to me. Poems, love explanations. Even a single proposal. I chuckled, but when I turned around to show Bill, the grin immediately disappeared from my face. My mouth dropped open while seeing the hundreds, no, thousands of letters for my brother. Without saying a word I turned around again, read all the letters without realizing what the words told me. What made him better, more loved? Was it his style, his fragility? The fact he is so feminine? I turned my back to him in jealously.

While I’m shuffling in my bag I turn around to my brother, who’s still asleep. It just isn’t fair. He isn’t different than me. Not less, but defiantly not more than I am. But he gets all the attention, always. When he changed his looks; all the papers go on full speed, lots of cover photos. When I did, there would probably be a small article at the gossip, maybe a picture. Why?

We just performed a few songs and I was backstage talking to a girl. She wasn’t just pretty, but she also seemed to be really smart and reflective. Somewhere I got a feeling that something could grow between us, Something that would last more than just one night. She smiled so sweet, was so tender but so funny. “Would you like to come with me?” I whispered in her ear when the other boys got up. She giggled, shrugged her shoulders shyly. I didn’t realize she wasn’t listening at all. When I looked up, I saw Bill temptingly looking at her and noticed she had more attention for my brother than for me. I pinched her hand to suppress my anger. Right then I just wanted to beat Bill up.

I take the carefully sealed bottle out of my bag. ‘Warning: inhaling can cause danger of life’ I read whispering. I smile. Finally I will be the strongest.

It was that one thrust he gave me today. We sat in a car and Bill pushed me to subtlety show he needed more space. At that moment something cracked inside of me. I realized he couldn’t go on this way. It was so simple: Bill wasn’t better than I; he just acted like he was. He attracted everyone’s attention, pretended to be important. My twin was in the position I belonged, And he shouldn’t be there any longer. Even though I had to spend the remaining of my life in jail, even though I’d hurt everyone around me. Even though I’d be seen as the bad one of us, and though Bill would get all the attention for one last time, He had to leave. To leave from this life, from my life. My annonying brother just stood in my way.

I cram a towel and sprinkle it with the cold liquid, which almost immediately vaporizes. I take Bill’s scarf from a hallstand and knot it in front of my mouth, hoping not to breathe in anything from the dangerous gas. I doubt if I dare to, if I can hurt my mom so bad. If I want to be hated, the rest of my life. But it will be worth it. Rather being hated than always being considered inferior. With the towel in my hand I walk back to our bed, sit down next to Bill carefully. I’m glad he doesn’t move. With shaking hands I softly push the towel against his mouth. He shouldn’t wake up; he must die a carefree end. If he should wake up everything would be ruined, would he defend himself. Then he wouldn’t die peacefully.

He always comforted me.

I see Bill closing his eyes a little bit more, turning up his nose. But he’s still asleep, still breathing in the killing gas.

He was there when I was scared.

My hand is still shaking a bit. Nerves, the fear for something going wrong. The pains I take not to realize I’m killing my little twin brother.

He never said he was the best.

I see Bill’s breathing slowing down; see him sinking into an everlasting sleep. I start getting a bit dizzy myself because of the poisoned air. It must be over soon.

He never preferred himself to me.

I feel the grip of my hand weaken and Bill’s head moving a bit. Still shaking I remove the towel from his mouth. Is he -?
I lay my hand under his head. His cheek still feels warm. “Bill?” I whisper. Even my voice is shaking. “Bill, are you still there?” No reaction. Powerless I let my head fall close my eyes. What have I done? I’m not a murderer! I’m Tom, just Tom. Part of a twin.
I’m crying inside. Soundless, without tears. Maybe it was all appropriated. Was Bill a tremendous person? Was I the jealous brother? Though Bill has always been taken to the foreground, he always treated me as an equal. Just because he is that way. Because he’s the most perfect person anyone could wish for.
I kneel on the ground; look at Bill’s pale face. It can’t be… No, not me.I don’t want to see him dead. It just can’t be true. He belongs to me. Why? How could I ever think of this? My sweet little brother…
I lay my head on his chest, close my eyes. “Bill, please, say something…” Somewhere far away I hear a soft kind of beating. I don’t care about anyone finding us this way. I’m such a bad person who’s just killed his brother. When I keep on listening, I realize the beating is the sound of Bill’s heart. Very softly, far away. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sound more beautiful… I open my eyes; look at Bill’s face, which still doesn’t show any expression. While I’m listening to his beating heart I see my twin brother’s color coming back into his face. After some long minutes he opens his eyes groggily and looks at me like he doesn’t recognize me. I can’t describe the feeling to look in his expressive eyes again. I was afraid to lose him forever…
Bill lifts his hand carefully, lays it on my head. He strokes over my dreads with his fingers. “Tom… You wanted me to die…” he whispers with a voice so soft that he can barely make himself understand. I look in his eyes, get up and take his hand. “Never, Bill. I never wanted you to die.”

Description
“Goodnight, Tom.” “Night,” I answer. Bill doesn’t know this will be his last night ever.

It seems to take ages before he finally sleeps. I look at him for a while to make sure he won’t wake up. It would ruin it all.

It had been this way from the very first beginning. He always had to stay in the front at photo shoots. And even when he got in the back, the photographer replaced him to his position. Was he really so much prettier? In my opinion he was still the slightly feminine part of an identical twin. Maybe it was because he is the front man. But does that make him so important? Like his voice is so special… I mean; there are so many people with a beautiful voice. You simply have a voice and he is blessed with the fact to be a good singer. You can do it, or you can’t. But playing the guitar isn’t the easiest thing. You have to learn a lot and not everyone is predestined to be a good guitar player. You need perseverance, patience and just after practicing a hell of a lot you can rather master it. I finally learned it after some years and who gets all the attention? Right. The one who’s born with his ‘instrument.’

Bill breathes peacefully and moves hardly, from which I notice he’s in a deep sleep. I carefully lift the blanket and sit right up. To my great relief Bill doesn’t react. I place my feet on the cold floor and get up to take a waistcoat. When I walk along the mirror, I decide to also put on some jeans, because a boy who’s just wearing a wide boxer and a way to enlarged waistcoat does look pretty stupid.

We were just famous for a few weeks, and received our first fan mail. I proudly read all the letters written to me. Poems, love explanations. Even a single proposal. I chuckled, but when I turned around to show Bill, the grin immediately disappeared from my face. My mouth dropped open while seeing the hundreds, no, thousands of letters for my brother. Without saying a word I turned around again, read all the letters without realizing what the words told me. What made him better, more loved? Was it his style, his fragility? The fact he is so feminine? I turned my back to him in jealously.

While I’m shuffling in my bag I turn around to my brother, who’s still asleep. It just isn’t fair. He isn’t different than me. Not less, but defiantly not more than I am. But he gets all the attention, always. When he changed his looks; all the papers go on full speed, lots of cover photos. When I did, there would probably be a small article at the gossip, maybe a picture. Why?

We just performed a few songs and I was backstage talking to a girl. She wasn’t just pretty, but she also seemed to be really smart and reflective. Somewhere I got a feeling that something could grow between us, Something that would last more than just one night. She smiled so sweet, was so tender but so funny. “Would you like to come with me?” I whispered in her ear when the other boys got up. She giggled, shrugged her shoulders shyly. I didn’t realize she wasn’t listening at all. When I looked up, I saw Bill temptingly looking at her and noticed she had more attention for my brother than for me. I pinched her hand to suppress my anger. Right then I just wanted to beat Bill up.

I take the carefully sealed bottle out of my bag. ‘Warning: inhaling can cause danger of life’ I read whispering. I smile. Finally I will be the strongest.

It was that one thrust he gave me today. We sat in a car and Bill pushed me to subtlety show he needed more space. At that moment something cracked inside of me. I realized he couldn’t go on this way. It was so simple: Bill wasn’t better than I; he just acted like he was. He attracted everyone’s attention, pretended to be important. My twin was in the position I belonged, And he shouldn’t be there any longer. Even though I had to spend the remaining of my life in jail, even though I’d hurt everyone around me. Even though I’d be seen as the bad one of us, and though Bill would get all the attention for one last time, He had to leave. To leave from this life, from my life. My annonying brother just stood in my way.

I cram a towel and sprinkle it with the cold liquid, which almost immediately vaporizes. I take Bill’s scarf from a hallstand and knot it in front of my mouth, hoping not to breathe in anything from the dangerous gas. I doubt if I dare to, if I can hurt my mom so bad. If I want to be hated, the rest of my life. But it will be worth it. Rather being hated than always being considered inferior. With the towel in my hand I walk back to our bed, sit down next to Bill carefully. I’m glad he doesn’t move. With shaking hands I softly push the towel against his mouth. He shouldn’t wake up; he must die a carefree end. If he should wake up everything would be ruined, would he defend himself. Then he wouldn’t die peacefully.

He always comforted me.

I see Bill closing his eyes a little bit more, turning up his nose. But he’s still asleep, still breathing in the killing gas.

He was there when I was scared.

My hand is still shaking a bit. Nerves, the fear for something going wrong. The pains I take not to realize I’m killing my little twin brother.

He never said he was the best.

I see Bill’s breathing slowing down; see him sinking into an everlasting sleep. I start getting a bit dizzy myself because of the poisoned air. It must be over soon.

He never preferred himself to me.

I feel the grip of my hand weaken and Bill’s head moving a bit. Still shaking I remove the towel from his mouth. Is he -?
I lay my hand under his head. His cheek still feels warm. “Bill?” I whisper. Even my voice is shaking. “Bill, are you still there?” No reaction. Powerless I let my head fall close my eyes. What have I done? I’m not a murderer! I’m Tom, just Tom. Part of a twin.
I’m crying inside. Soundless, without tears. Maybe it was all appropriated. Was Bill a tremendous person? Was I the jealous brother? Though Bill has always been taken to the foreground, he always treated me as an equal. Just because he is that way. Because he’s the most perfect person anyone could wish for.
I kneel on the ground; look at Bill’s pale face. It can’t be… No, not me.I don’t want to see him dead. It just can’t be true. He belongs to me. Why? How could I ever think of this? My sweet little brother…
I lay my head on his chest, close my eyes. “Bill, please, say something…” Somewhere far away I hear a soft kind of beating. I don’t care about anyone finding us this way. I’m such a bad person who’s just killed his brother. When I keep on listening, I realize the beating is the sound of Bill’s heart. Very softly, far away. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sound more beautiful… I open my eyes; look at Bill’s face, which still doesn’t show any expression. While I’m listening to his beating heart I see my twin brother’s color coming back into his face. After some long minutes he opens his eyes groggily and looks at me like he doesn’t recognize me. I can’t describe the feeling to look in his expressive eyes again. I was afraid to lose him forever…
Bill lifts his hand carefully, lays it on my head. He strokes over my dreads with his fingers. “Tom… You wanted me to die…” he whispers with a voice so soft that he can barely make himself understand. I look in his eyes, get up and take his hand. “Never, Bill. I never wanted you to die.”