You Win
One
I had been mad at Carter before. He was my brother—we fought at least once a week. But this wasn’t me stealing the remote or him forgetting to rinse the sink after he shaved. This was worthy of a nuclear war.
“You didn’t even want this!” I screamed at him, forcefully throwing the newspaper to the ground. “You didn’t deserve to win.”
“How would you know if I wanted this or not?” Carter spat. “My entry was obviously better than yours, therefore I won and you lost. Honestly, Caroline. I thought you’d be used to this by now.”
It was true. I was almost always second to my brother. But not with this. Writing was my thing. It was the one area of my life that was completely Carter-free. Until now.
“You didn’t win because you’re a good writer. You won because you’re fucking the newspaper’s editor!”
“Does it matter? I won, you didn’t. The end.”
“You didn’t even want this!” I screamed at him, forcefully throwing the newspaper to the ground. “You didn’t deserve to win.”
“How would you know if I wanted this or not?” Carter spat. “My entry was obviously better than yours, therefore I won and you lost. Honestly, Caroline. I thought you’d be used to this by now.”
It was true. I was almost always second to my brother. But not with this. Writing was my thing. It was the one area of my life that was completely Carter-free. Until now.
“You didn’t win because you’re a good writer. You won because you’re fucking the newspaper’s editor!”
“Does it matter? I won, you didn’t. The end.”