You can pick your friends but you cannot pick your family. What a shame. I think, hop onto the park bench and sit, my feet dangling and my best friend in the whole world, Adam, next to me. We are avoiding my baby brother, Jake, who is and always will be my social downfall.

Ever since a toddler, Jake is required to wear a set of arm braces. “There’s something wrong with your brother’s bones.” My mother has always told me but had never gone into any details. I’ve never really believed her. What kind of idiot does she think I am? I’m six, not three. 

“Pinocchio at three o’clock.” Adam says, snapping me out of my thoughts. Pinocchio is Jake’s nickname at school.

I turn to my right and see Jake heading toward us, his arms raised sky-high. He pauses before me, “A little help, big brother?” I sigh, hop off the bench, wrap my arms around Jake’s waist, and hoist him onto the bench.

“Better?” I ask. He smiles. I sigh. Good Grief.

(~175 words)

I am participating in Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writer, where we write a piece between 100 and 150 words (more or less 25 words) in length inspired by the photo prompt above.