Twins.

Double the muddle, double the trouble- or at least, it should have been...

I'm a twin you see (an identical one, not a fraternal) and I grew up with my brother in the suburbs. We grew up together, ate the same, dressed the same and were pretty much the same until we got to high-school.

In high school, being a twin isn't the same as it was back in the old days. Teacher's found it difficult to tell us apart and although we were getting the same grades, apparently being able to recognise which twin is doing which test is a very big deal. The principal was a strict as anything when it came to uniform and that included hairstyles amongst other things.

My parents asked us to change to make things easier but when my brother started getting into trouble I don't think it was the change my parents were expecting...

It all started with a fight.

It was a minor scuffle, they said, but the consequences remained the consequences. Naturally, my brother denied ever being in the fight and with me having an alibi, my parents could only conclude that my brother was lying. It wouldn't have been so bad if he told the truth, they said, but that was what started the snowball rolling.

After the fight, it wasn't long before my brother got into trouble again. This time it was alcohol - a bottle of vodka found underneath his bed. Again, he denied it but I was down with a fever that week so the blame could only be pinned down on him.

My parents aren't the brightest but they aren't dumb either. With the sudden outburst of rebellious behaviour, they knew something was up. Bullying, perhaps? Depression? It didn't add up. His grades remained flawless as always and nothing was out of the ordinary. Whatever it was, they decided to give my brother one last chance.

He blew that chance.

He blew that chance, the same way he got caught blowing out a cigarette.

They weren't any cigarettes - they were 'weed' cigarettes. I would know, after all, I was there with him trying to stop him from taking them. I wasn't going to say anything but then our neighbours caught us. They tattled to my parents but then my brother tried to blame me. He said I was a bad influence but with his soiled track record, he was the one who ended up in the slammer.

His sentence was meant to last for a year but he got out early after only serving a month. I was overjoyed.

Nonetheless, his freedom didn't last long-

It was at a party that he was convicted of murder.

I tried to take the blame, I couldn't stand him leaving again, but forensic evidence said otherwise...

Now he boards at a reform institution and his trips home are limited.

I hate it.

I hate it because I have to keep my party animal trapped in its cage.