[ WP ] You do n't remember ever owning the family dog , but everyone else seems to ...

I was trying to focus my battered camera on a spectacularly odd-looking elderly couple at the foot of Huayna Picchu when I felt a soft touch on my shoulder. It was Oscar, the stumpy native who had been assigned to drag our pale, unprepared bodies across 26 miles of Incan heritage; reluctantly, no doubt. 
 
 Oscar did n't look happy. Not just in this moment, but ever. But in this moment, also. Without speaking a word he led me to a nearby rock and gestured his hand in a way that insisted I sit down. 
 
 `` I receive text from hostel'', Oscar's English was n't perfect, but you never struggled to understand what he was saying. `` Your mother was in touch. She wants you to know that Billy has dead''. 
 
 That moment there. When those last three words - just four measly syllables, a calamity of 12 damned letters - when that reached my ear and triggered the connectivity in my brain that deals with understanding. That moment there, I felt the ground move from under me, and I knew I was the only one to feel it. 
 
 The rock I was sitting on sank lower than my heart and I was now looking up at Oscar through flooded pupils. His head remained bowed whilst he asked who Billy was to me. Moments later his stubby arms were wrapped around my head and he was crying now too. `` I also lost a brother'', he sobbed in my ear. `` Lo siento mucho.'' 
 
 Oscar pulled some strings with another tour guide and secured me a seat on a coach that was heading back to Cuzco. I was sitting behind the spectacularly odd-looking elderly couple. They had Southern American accents. Go figure. The journey back was painfully long but it gave me time to reflect on the life I had shared with my little brother. 
 
 He was a pain in the ass, but such a good kid. We were inseparable at home. He was six years my junior, so we did n't spend much time out of the house together - except for our evening games of football. I used to stick him in goal and practise my penalties on him. It was pretty cruel but I insisted on always playing in the goal with no net. It was my lucky goal, and he was a champion at bringing it back. Billy did n't have many other friends either, he was always at home, and when I'd get in he'd be bugging me to play games with him or make food for him. He was too young to cook and would drool over the thought of my special nacho recipe. 
 
 There were too many memories whirling through my head on that bus, but they were all very recent. I could n't for the life of me grasp any from our younger years. Special occasions, sure, like when Mum brought him home from hospital after nearly 24 hours of uncertainty during her time in labour. I could n't wait to speak to Mum, I knew she must've been completely cut up. 
 
 Well, I had assumed so anyway. 
 
 I'm back in the hostel now. It's 1am and I'm still quite dazed from being abruptly woken up and escorted into the reception. I logged in to the hostel's computer and decided to kill some time whilst waiting half an hour or so until my mother's body clock wakes her up. It's 6am back home and I've never known the woman to get up earlier or later than 6:30am on the dot. She's never owned an alarm clock either. Biological efficiency at it's finest. 
 
 A few minutes ago I logged in to Facebook, and now I ca n't peel my eyes away from the first image on my news feed. Nor can I make any sense of it. 
 
 I'm sure it's been ten minutes now and this picture has developed all sorts of unwanted feelings within me. Confusion, anger and paranoia seem to be the most prevalent. All but realisation and understanding, love and happiness. Just 10 minutes without those feelings can drive a man to the edge of hell. 
 
 You see this picture here, that has been steadily burning into my iris, is one that I recognise. It's the picture my Mum keeps at her desk next to the hideous orange cactus. It's the one of all of us. Me, Mum and Billy. It was taken by my Uncle Kevin in my back garden, a few months after Billy was born. 
 
 But now... someone has tampered with it. They have airbrushed my baby brother out. Less than a day after he has died. And replaced him with an image of a young Springer Spaniel. 
 
 But what I really ca n't wrap my head around is that the picture has been posted by my mother, with the status'We'll miss you, Teddy.'' And family condolences have poured in through the comments. Even my Uncle Kevin wrote of how he remembers taking this photo. His wife, Anne, replied to it expressing her sorrow for me because `` he and Teddy were so close''. 
 
 This can only be some kind of sick, twisted joke at my poor brother's expense, right? 
 
 6:30am. I ring my mother immediately. She answers immediately. 
 
 `` Hey Petal, I did n't think I'd hear from you so soon. You must have got my message?'' 
 
 `` Mum please explain what's going on, I'm scared'' 
 
 `` It's nothing to worry about son, it was peaceful, I was with him when he went'' 
 
 `` But he was my little brother, he was too young to die'' 
 
 `` Oh Jake, I've been worrying about this day since the moment we got Ted. You grew far too close to that dog'' 
 
 `` Dog?! Mum, how can you say that about your son'' 
 
 `` Come on Jake, you have surely grown? I have n't heard you say such things about Ted since you were 10'' 
 
 `` And why do you keep calling him Ted, his name is Billy'' 
 
 `` What?'' 
 
 `` Billy, Mum. William Bruce Hunt. That's the name you gave him when he was born.'' 
 
 `` Jacob, that's the name we were going to give to your little brother but he died when I was in labour. I swore never to tell you though, after the mental torment you suffered as a result of your father's death that year. That's why we got Teddy for you. How do you know that name?'' 
 
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 I had to seriously rush this ending. But this is my first time posting on WP so all feedback is very much welcome.
