No One
By: Ormspryde
Sideshow Bob lies awake after the tumultuous events of Brother From Another Series

  • Rated: Fiction K+
  • English
  • Words: 429
  • Published: Apr 26, 1999
  • Status: Complete

I can't sleep. Unusual for me. Perhaps my insomnia is in some way due to my brother's treachery. He is part of the reason I'm back in this dark, pestilent hellhole. I thought I could trust him.

Apparently I was mistaken.

He suffers no pangs of conscience. At least, not as far as I can tell. And I've always been a better actor than he.

What's that?! Oh, it's only Machiavelli. I never thought I'd have a pet rat. Everyone here calls him "Fluffy." Plebs.

Shoo, Machiavelli, I'm trying to sleep. Hmph. Trying. I haven't done anything *but* try since the thrice-cursed day I entered this miserable world. When do *I* succeed? When *will* justice be done?

Hah. Justice. What a farce. They say, whomever *they* are, that justice is blind. It seems justice is deaf as well. Else why would I be back in this odious penitentiary sharing a cell with my traitorous brother?

My brother. Treacherous villain. Oh, he offered me a chance to leave this place, a job, a fresh start. And for what? So he could have revenge for an imagined slight.

I thought I was going to start over. I thought I could have another chance. But then Cecil stabbed me in the back and I was sent right back to this dismal viper pit. Unfairly imprisoned. But my life never has been fair.

All the time, I hear of people who have never had to work for anything in their lives. Oh, how I abhor them. Life has been such an immense struggle for me. And look where all my effort has gotten me. Forty-three years old and in prison. No real friends. No children.

Perhaps that is for the best. Better not to spread the loser gene about.

Maybe I should just kill myself. End my pain. Just slash my wrists or something like that. Finally admit defeat.

Oh Lord, I'm lonely.

I hear my brother shifting in his sleep below. My brother. One would think that one's blood, one's own *brother*, could be trusted.

I believe he has had his revenge. There are some fates worse than death. Such as this dark feeling of total emptiness deep within my being. One should at least have *someone* to confide in!

Hot tears flow down my face. The first time I've wept sincerely in years.

Dear God, whom *can* I trust?!

The answer burns like fire, consuming what is left of my soul to bitter ashes.

No one.

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