Odium

The Odium Dead roses in a vase on my desk I moved them away and remembered seeing my brother, through a door ajar, getting up from his chair, open the drawer where my pipe collection was, and break them one by one. A strange smile played upon his lips, and I said nothing, didn’t know he hated me so. He was the one with many friends, he was the one who sat in the middle of the room telling jokes at my expense while I sought the corners. When he died, the chapel was full of his friends the spoke so well of him, but I sat there dry eyed all I could think of, was my bloody meerschaum pipes