Never Turn Back

The night my twin brother was killed was the night I lost everything. He wasn't just my twin. He was my best friend. We had grown up together, always together yet never the same. He was a nice young man with high stature. I was the trouble maker that he always had to get out of trouble. He was the artist. I was the writer. He was the motorcyclist, I was the equestrian. The only thing we had in common was our black hair and blue eyes. The notorious Christopher and Christine. That was us.1

He and I were always telling people to keep moving forward. The only way to move on was to remember what happened before and never let it happen again. Our motto was to never turn back. The night he died was the night that I disobeyed our own motto. I turned back.2

We'd started getting into trouble with the local gang known as the Swords. It seems that because we were witnesses in their latest street fights and we'd helped turn their leader in, things had just gotten bad!3

We were being chased down the backstreets of our down. The Swords was a six man gang, one member in jail. Chris and I were cornered. We were both good fighters, but flesh had never beaten guns and knives. Chris ordered me to take the ladder up onto the roof, and when he tells me to do something, I'd better do it.4

"Go, now! Never turn back!" he told me for the last time. At first, I was heading up on the rooftop as my brother waited for the Swords, who were coming round the corner now. I was almost to the roof, trying to ignore the gang's taunts, when I heard Chris scream. At least, I thought it was Chris.5

I turned around, just to glance at the fight. Then I slipped, falling on top of one of the Sword members, both of us landing on the body of one of the other members. The person Chris had killed.6

It was now two to four, and four guns were pointed at our heads. Seconds passed the minute Chris started throwing punches, one man, two men down, sirens in the background starting to grow louder. How the police had known to come, I don't know, but the last two members were about to fire their guns on me when Chris stepped into their line of fire. Gunshots. Silence. Slow motion as me brother fell like the rest of them. Dead.7

At first, I had thought it was fake. Then grief hit me like a thousand pound boulder. The rage hit me like the ocean itself. Like a Viking, I went berserk. By the time I was through with them, I had their blood smeered all over my hands as the last of the Swords lay dead. I held my brother's body as the cops came and checked out the scene. I wanted to scream, "What are you looking at? You're too late? My brother's dead! THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS TO ME!"8

It's been a month since that night. No one has looked at me the same, knowing Christopher was dead and I had killed the men who'd done it. I can hear them talking about me. It makes me think that if I had only listened, if I hadn't turned back, maybe he'd still be here beside me, making me laugh.9

You'd think I'd have learned my lesson. I'm not going to disappoint you. I did. Ever since then, I've learned that I had to keep moving. Sure, remembering your past will help you not repeat the same mistakes in the future, but it doesn't mean you have to look back on it every second of the way. Never turn back. It's what killed my brother. Remembering is all you need to do to not make the same mistakes. Just as long as you never turn back.