Super Short Story

The sky wept for days on end, with no relief from its drizzling wetness. Frustrated with her young sons’ pent-up energy, Bridget O’Reilly sent them out to find stray bits of coal and timber to use for fuel in the fireplace. Cael, the younger, seemed generally put out by the situation, especially since it meant following his older brother around and doing as he was told by yet another elder. Ronan, despite the power shift that always occurred when their parents weren’t around, would rather they had been able to stay inside and continue with their somewhat rambunctious game of marbles. But they trudged out into the rain, and set off for the area of Limerick where they would be more likely to find what they were looking for.
They walked briskly, their silence only interrupted by the odd question from Cael every now and again.
“D’you think we’ll have a ham for Easter this year, Ronan?”
“No, mam says it’ll be pig’s head as usual.”
“Michael Flynn’s family’s havin’ ham.”
“Well, go live them then, and shut yer mouth.”
Cael closed the opening in his dejected face and resumed his silent march. The road, which was in a state of horrible disrepair, coupled with the rain that was borderline torrential at this point made it difficult to distinguish the ooze-filled potholes from the sturdier sections of the road. They continued this way for some distance, turning in and out of allies, poking through newspapers and trash heaps, trying in vain to find some scrap of dry and useful fuel. While he was distracted by the fog rolling over nearby hills that could be seen through the gaps of alleyways, Cael misjudged a step and tumbled into a small ditch near the curb of the road. Ronan’s eyes rolled unsympathetically as he reached down to drag his baby brother back to his feet.
“Mam’s going to skin you alive, Cael. We’ve only had these shirts for a fortnight now, and look at you – covered in filth.” Cael’s chin began to tremble, and Ronan was in no mood to deal with tears. “Let’s just go back home, ok? There’s nothing out here to find.”
With a nod of his head, Cael turned back to follow his brother’s footsteps back the way they came. The fog continued to roll in, foaming off of the gurgling river that served as the northern seam of the city, and enveloping the homes, factories, and churches that composed the stage for the daily scenes of Limerick’s citizens. Ronan looked at his surroundings with older eyes. He knew that those factories didn’t have as many jobs as the people needed to provide for their families. He knew that in a year or two he’d have to start helping out his family by getting a job of some sort, and that soon after, Cael would have to join him.
In spite of his irritation, Ronan felt a deep sense of brotherly responsibility for the well being of Cael, and was not looking forward to the day where he too would have to join the young labor force of their poverty-stricken city. His eyes, mature beyond their years due to seeing paycheck after paycheck fill their father’s beer mug instead of their bellies, roved around the numerous pubs lining the street. Just before they turned the corner to their street, Ronan, lost in a moment of compassion, reached out and put a hand on Cael’s chest to stop him where he was.
“Take off yer shirt, Cael.”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it. Here, take mine,” he instructed.
Cael, bewildered, did as he was told, and swapped shirts with his older brother. Ronan slid his hands into the soggy sleeves and felt a sudden chill shake his dampened body as he pulled the other sleeve on and buttoned up the front. Because Cael was tall for his age, his shirt fit Ronan as if it was his own.
“Let’s go – they’ll be worried about us, ‘tis almost dark.”
They quickly trotted up the cobbled road and scampered through the wooden door of their home. Bridget looked up from the stew on the dimly smoldering fire and waggled the wooden spoon at the muddy rascals in the doorway.
“What’ve you done? Look at you – a mess! A complete mess!”
Ronan shrugged slightly, and simply explained that he had slipped on the road.
“Well see to it you be more careful, or it’ll be you that’s doin’ the laundry next week! Take it off and come sit near the fire while it dries.”
Ronan obeyed, and as he glanced to his side, he briefly met Cael’s thankful stare.
“Someday you’ll understand,” he whispered.
“But…why?”
“Because yer my brother.”