Chapter 1: division
Everything Was Good, Back Then
Samuel and Ellis had been inseparable since birth. They shared the same school, the same university, the same blood. And why wouldn't they? They were brothers.
But every saga has an ending. Theirs came on March 3, 2016.
The day began like any other, but the weight pressing down on their home was different. Heavy. Final.
In a hospital bed across town lay Tom and Bennett—their parents. A genetic disease had wormed its way through their veins, something inherited, something unstoppable. The doctors had done what they could. It was not enough.
---
The Apartment
Samuel sat in the living room, cross-legged on the floor, a book open in his lap. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Nietzsche. Philosophical passages about the Übermensch, about morality being a construction, about overcoming. He had read it before. He was reading it again.
His face was calm. Too calm.
Ellis moved through the hallway, stuffing clothes into a duffel bag. His hands were trembling. His jaw was tight. He had been crying earlier—not in front of Samuel, never in front of Samuel—but the redness around his eyes betrayed him.
He stopped at the doorway. Watched his brother.
Samuel turned a page. He did not look up.
"Are you ready?" Ellis asked. His voice cracked.
Samuel glanced at him. No expression. No hurry. "For what?"
"The hospital. Mom and Dad." Ellis stepped into the room. "What are you reading?"
"A book."
Ellis stared. The book. The calm posture. The absence of tears, of clenched fists, of anything that looked like grief. His chest tightened.
"What happened to you, brother?" Ellis asked, stepping closer. "Why aren't you showing any remorse? They're dying, Samuel. Our parents are dying."
Samuel closed the book slowly. He placed it on the floor beside him. Then he looked up at Ellis with eyes that held no storm, no sorrow—only a flat, unreadable stillness.
"We are going to the hospital. Now," Ellis said, his voice hardening.
"Sure thing," Samuel replied.
He stood, stretched, and walked toward the door. He did not look back at the book.
---
The Drive
The car was a black sedan, clean, unremarkable. Samuel sat in the driver's seat. Ellis rode shotgun, staring out the window at the gray March sky. The streets were wet from an earlier rain.
For several minutes, neither spoke. The only sounds were the hum of the tires and the rhythmic click of the turn signal.
Then Samuel broke the silence.
"Do you think they will survive?"
The question was blunt. It cut through the quiet like a blade. No softening. No preamble.
Ellis blinked. He turned to look at his brother's profile—sharp, focused on the road, utterly composed.
"Yeah," Ellis said, forcing confidence into his voice. "If they survive, they'll get another ten, maybe twenty years. The doctors said the treatment was promising."
"If."
Ellis flinched.
"It's not confirmed," Samuel continued, his tone conversational, almost light. "What if they die? You would be devastated."
"Why do you talk like that?" Ellis asked, his voice rising.
Samuel's lips curved—not a smile, not quite. A thoughtful purse. "I like this one rule of nature. We are never sure. Possible can become impossible. Impossible can become possible. Everything is a gamble."
"Shut the fuck up."
Ellis's hands curled into fists. He wanted to hit something. Instead, he pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the window.
"You can deny it," Samuel said, unbothered. "But there are still two options. They live. Or they die."
"If we work together, we will save them," Ellis said. He needed to believe it. He needed Samuel to believe it.
"Many people work hard to save their loved ones. They have money. They ask for donations. And still, people die. Our story is no different."
"Shut up, bro." Ellis's voice broke on the last word.
Samuel drove on. His hands were steady on the wheel.
---
The Hospital
The horror came true.
Tom and Bennett died within hours of each other—first the father, then the mother, as if they could not bear to be apart. The hospital room fell into a silence so deep it seemed to swallow sound.
Ellis stood at the foot of the bed, shaking. He turned to Samuel, who stood by the door, arms at his sides, face unreadable.
Then Ellis broke.
"Motherfucker!" He screamed, tears streaming down his face. "You couldn't save them! You are a waste of shit who procrastinates! When they were dying, you knew you did nothing, and then you talked about 'possibility' like it was some goddamn philosophy lesson!"
His voice echoed off the sterile walls.
"Get out!"
Samuel's face twitched. A single tear slid down his cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand—quickly, almost mechanically. Then he turned and walked out without a word.
---
The Division
The funeral was the next day. Gray skies. Cold wind. The bodies were cremated, and the ashes buried in a small plot at the edge of the cemetery.
Samuel stood at the back, apart from the few mourners who had come. He wore a black suit that fit him perfectly—bought weeks ago, before anyone knew the end was coming.
Ellis noticed. He said nothing.
After the service, Ellis went to live at their mother's brother's house. Samuel checked into a hotel downtown. They did not exchange addresses. They did not exchange phone calls.
The division was complete.
Everything had been good, back then. But brothers who once shared a room, a school, a bloodline, now shared only the silence of a grave and the memory of a car ride where one of them had asked, "Do you think they will survive?" as if reading a weather report.
Samuel never opened Thus Spoke Zarathustra again.
Ellis never forgave him.
And the saga ended not with a scream, but with a closed door.
Chapter 1 ends
To be continued