The Cruel Life of a 5 Year Old

Although my brother is a nice person, once in a while he has been known to be mean. The meanest thing he’s ever done to me was pretend to move me downstairs. Now with this, I can explain. I was five, maybe six years old and he had a very convincing act! I was at the peak of my naïve years and he was at the peak of his power over me. My brother is significantly older, stronger, and cleverer and knows how to get away with any machination. Honestly, I was his Monopoly, his Uno, his Lego piece! But this time, he’s crossed my line. We were situated in my old room eight years ago. I was minding my own business coloring, trying ever so hard to stay within the lines because it was one of my idiosyncrasies. My brother gets bored, and my parents aren’t home. These are the ideal conditions for preying, which is what he got to immediately. A few tricks here and some banter there and my naïve state got the better of me. I believe it all, every word. I adored my colorful room, decorated with my arts and crafts from kindergarten on the walls, kiddy shelves filled with toys, the whole set up.

But this time, my brother was in charge of my domain. He gathered up my belongings convincingly threatening to move me downstairs. No problem, right? Wrong. We lived in a town house; the downstairs was simply a section which connected all the rooms together. It was dark, spooky, and oh so public. Is this what my fate was to be? Surely I couldn’t live down there with whatever strangers may be lurking around? Thoughts of this spooky corridor made me cry. I screamed my lungs out, falling to the ground and pounding my fists at it. This was all I could do. How cruel the life of a five year old can be. This act of meanness is unlike any other. When all was thought lost, and I had given up on my kindergarten career and my plans for the future, being the red power ranger, a light of kindness bleeds through. My brother sets down my shelves and things and makes me return them to where they were.