The laughter rose from deep within his chest and rolled out to encompass the entire theater, his face contorted by the sheer joy of the moment. “You do realize that I was right, that he who laughs last…”
My knife slices into his torso, snakes its way up and into his heart. He struggles to take another breath and fails, crumpling into a heap in the center of the stage.
“He who laughs last didn’t get the joke. And it wasn’t funny in the first place.” My turn, and this time the room is filled with the sound of a guttural cry, a mournful wailing at the injustice of it all. The call wracks my frame, exhausts me, takes my breath away, forces me down to my knees next to my brother’s lifeless body, but I continue to shout until my soul is sated and all the world can hear.