The Cain instinct

If anyone wants to know, the Cain instinct is the urge and want of committing fratricide. It started out as a Tumblr post, and surprisingly, a whole lot of people all over the world understood the instinct. It wasn’t that bizarre thinking of way on how to end your sibling.

So of course, I took comfort in knowing that fratricide was more common than I thought. I wasn’t the only one who thought of killing my brother. I wasn’t alone with any of the thoughts. But it wasn’t all my siblings that I had the Instinct with.

Just one.

Jesus Gonzales. My younger brother by three years. But everyone called him Rigo. Make no mistake, I love my brother. But I also love trying to kill him.

I don’t know why, but Rigo and I have always been at odds. Ever since we were little kids, when we were catching lizards and eating candy cigarettes. We are on good terms now, (Kinda have to be since we live together.) We grew up. I was no longer the shy yet wild girl who ran through hawthorn brambles and caught snakes. He was no longer the scabbed up, gapped tooth gremlin who took daring leaps off of the roof. Its true that time waits for no one. Not even us.

Throughout our lives, we have tried to off each other. No two instances were the same though. For a while, it was easy to pick a tactic: pushing him down the stairs, him chasing me with an axe. I never thought differently of the urge. I figured it was just a thing that families did. But, thanks to Tumblr, I now knew I wasn’t alone.

But in order for you to understand, here is one of my favorite instances when the Instinct flared up.

Instant one: Bullseye. Year 2008.

I was 12. He was 9. And our dad bought us some Daisy Red Ryder BB guns. Between the six of us, he bought two.

The guns were lightweight, and glossy with fake wood paneling. One gun was a pump action, the other was a lever action. I favored the lever action gun best. Unfortunately, so did Rigo.

“These are guns. Despite being marketed as toys; they are NOT toys. Do not point them at anyone. Do not shoot them at the dogs. Do not shoot the house.” our older brother instructed us. Chase was one of the older ones, and a newly discharged Marine. So, our dad had him teach us how to treat and use the guns.

“Keep the barrel pointed down. Finger off the trigger. Shoulders squared, backs straight. If you fuck up once, I am taking the guns. Remember; these are NOT toys.” Chase instructed us. He then walked about forty feet from where we stood on the porch and lined up soup cans, soda cans, and plastic bottles full of dead wasps.

The first ones up to shoot were Jorion and I, since we were the oldest of our half of the siblings. I took a breath, and lifted the gun, keeping it steady.

“Line up the bead until it is straight. When you are ready, pull the trigger when you exhale.” Chase instructed. I took another breath, and on the exhale, I shot the gun. My first target was the wasp bottle, and I hit it.

“Good job.” Chase then moved to instruct Jorion, since he had a different type of gun.

I kept one shoot bottles and cans, grinning as I got 8 out of 10 on my targets. Sometime after my focusing on shooting, my dad came out.

“Damn. Not a bad shot. I guess I know who my hunting buddy is this fall.” he chuckled. I felt joy, since I always wanted to hunt with my brothers and parents.

After a while, I switched out with Rigo.

Rigo shot sporadically, not even attempting to hit the targets. I heard both Chase and my dad sigh. Rigo kept on shooting, grinning as he blew some of the soup cans off their perch. For some reason, his crazy shooting spree made me irritated.

It came to a stop when we all heard a squawk. Rigo shot one of the chickens. One of the roosters, to be specific.

“That’s it. You’re done.” Chase took the gun away and moved to check on the chicken and reposted the targets. Jorion got bored some time ago, and left, handing the pump action BB gun to our dad. He wasn’t as interested. Oh well.

“Can I go again?” I asked.

“Go for it. Remember the rules?” my father asked, handing me the BB gun. I nodded.

“Barrel down, back straight, finger off the trigger.” I recited. From the corner of my eye, I watched as Rigo got berated by Chase for shooting Sir William. Not like I cared. That rooster was a dick.

Once the area was cleared of both brothers and ornery chickens, I began shooting again. My sister then joined me for snapshooting the BBs. She was more comfortable with the pump action gun, so we began to have a contest. Our dad brought out our oldest brother’s BB gun, another lever action that was more worn out and sporting a bent barrel. We weren’t allowed to shoot that gun. But Brian brought it out for his daughters, my nieces, to practice with.

Then something stupid happened.

Rigo then began to run in between my targets, laughing and taunting. His action caused us girls to stop practicing.

“You can’t hit me! You can’t hit me!” he teased. I kept my gun lowered, growing angry as I couldn’t keep on doing what I was enjoying. I had it.

Raising the gun, I followed Rigo with the barrel. I ever took a knee for better support.

“Jenn...” I heard our dad warn. Rigo kept on laughing. I took in a breath, and exhaled as I pulled the trigger. Rigo then let out a squeal. He was then on the ground, holding his butt cheeks and crying.

“Why did you do that?!” Chase scolded me. Knowing I was going to be in trouble, I handed the BB gun to my dad. I kept a steady glare at my older brother, daring him to say something. Anything.

"He said I caouldn't hit him. So I did."