Chapter 1: The Day My Brother Killed Me

The day the 1990 SAT results came out, my younger brother somehow managed to pull off some kind of freaky body swap with me.

It was one of those muggy June mornings in rural Kentucky, the kind where the heat clings to your skin and the air hangs heavy with the smell of old tobacco. Crammed inside my brother’s body, everything felt wrong—like I was wearing someone else’s skin. I watched, stunned and raw, as my parents hugged “me” and cheered, their voices echoing off the faded clapboard walls. I just stood there, numb.

“My boy’s the top scorer! Now we can finally turn our lives around.”

Dad’s voice cracked—maybe hope, or maybe just plain relief. Mom wiped her eyes on her apron, hands trembling with excitement. The whole kitchen seemed to glow, but I felt like a ghost at my own funeral. No, worse—I was invisible, watching my own life slip away.

“We’ve put up with that kid for so long. You’ve had it rough, haven’t you? From now on, we don’t have to take it anymore.”

Their words stung worse than the sticky heat ever could. I’d always thought I was the black sheep, but hearing them say it out loud—like I was just some burden they’d finally shaken off—knocked the wind out of me. The joy in their voices wasn’t for me. It never had been.

All along, they knew. Had they always known? From beginning to end, my parents were in on it.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. All those years—every forced smile, every sideways glance at family dinners—they’d all been part of some secret I was never meant to know. I felt the floor tilt beneath me, the world suddenly off-kilter. Was any of it ever real?

I couldn’t accept it. I rushed forward to confront them, but my brother struck me down with a brick, beat me to death, and tossed my body behind the barn for the pigs.

It happened so fast, I barely saw the brick coming. The last thing I heard? The pigs, squealing and rooting in the mud. The world went black with the taste of iron in my mouth and the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.

“You’re just a stray we picked up. I want your body and your memories—that’s already more than you deserve.”

His words rang in my skull, cold and final. They echoed around my head.

My parents just watched coldly, never lifting a finger to stop it.

Their faces were blank, empty as the tobacco fields after harvest. Not a flicker of regret, not even a sigh. I was nothing to them, less than nothing.