Recipe: How to Kill Your Brother?

I traced my fingers along the spine of my notebook and took a deep breath.

“Okay Saiyara, you can do this”, I muttered to myself.

Chao Diary,

I have a recipe for you today. I know it’s not my usual rambling, yet I want to share this.

Before I tell you the name of this dish, let me take you through its background story.

Remember those moments during family reunions when your brother went savage, embarrassing you in the process, when the most nosy relative was around?


Those moments where your brother turned into a paranoid puddle of sweat and tears after watching a horror movie and you had to be their personal don’t-worry-everything-is-okay-it-is-just-a-movie-here-take-my-shawl-and-clean-your-nose scout?


Those moments of ignorance when they are watching cartoon?


I took a deep breath. Somehow those moments didn’t exactly express my anger towards my brother.

…okay you get the drift. I want you to think of all those humiliating and painful memories with your brother and Voila! You get to the “How to kill your brother” recipe.

So, without further procrastination, let’s get down to business.

Tip: you can make this at any part of the time but I’d prefer a time when they least expect it.

Servings: One brother at a time. (One on one battle is always better than one on many)

Ingredients: Brother


I froze.

“What am I supposed to write here?”  , I asked myself.

It’s not like I ran out of ideas. I had so many ideas that I got confused which one to use.

I took a deep breath – something that I’ve been doing a lot since I began this particular entry- and started thinking.

“How exactly would you want to kill Adi?” I asked myself frowning a bit.

Push him off the terrace?

Nope, he’s fast. He would probably pull me with him.

I shuddered at that thought. I did NOT want to spend the rest of my eternal life wandering with him.

Stab him?

Nah, don’t want a pool of blood and groping intestine.

Electrocute him?

Hmm… how does one do it? Never mind, I might end up electrocuting myself.

After minutes which felt like hours- of thinking, it struck me.

“Do I really need to kill him?”

I look at my paper- my incomplete entry. The ‘method’ seemed to send me a silent message- “you got to do it Saiyara. End what you started.”

Sighing, I close my eyes for a moment and pictured Adi’s face. He was really cute, no doubt about that. Black hair cupped his fair round face. His radiant toothless smile always contradicted his dark pupils that were somewhat fearful always. His cheeks always turned red when I pulled them. And his height – oh god his height! He was shorter than me but obviously an 8 year old would be shorter than a 17 year old. The problem, though, was that he was only a foot shorter than me. Basically I mean to say that he is tall and I am short (in respect to our ages). We were like those black and white keys of a piano- incomplete without each… STOP!!!

My eyes flew open, I was supposed to plan a murder, not talk about how great our relationship is!

Grumbling, I remember his latest breach of trust which was enough to make my anger surface.

1.     Take a handful of curses and swallow them. Don’t let them out. It will help preserve the anger for a longer time.

2.     Wrap all the happy moments with your brother in an impenetrable foil and let them chill in the refrigerator.

3.     Take a bowl of sadism and deep fry your emotions until the smell of malice fills the air.

4.     Take a bowl of your brother’s embarrassing moments which were soaked overnight and thoroughly mix it with your deep fried emotions.

5.     Add two cups of your brother’s weakness to the mixture and a pinch of harassment. Make sure there are no lumps of regret.

6.     Let it settle for an hour. Once the dough is formed, roll it out into a ½ inch thick sheet, cut it in the shape of tears and bake them at 380*revenge.

7.     Now, heat some venomous sarcasm on


“Honey dijjuuuuuu…” the annoying voice of my brother filled my room. Instinctively, I tossed my notebook away and turned to face an irritatingly cute grin.


“Whatcha doin?” He asked to which I responded with a glare. He climbed up my bed and sat on lap. “Look dijju, I know you are angry with me but then again you are always angry.” He gave me sheepish smile and I glared harder. “I’m sorry, okay?”

I shook my head from side to side. I wonder who looked like a child at that moment.

Adi sighed dramatically hunching his shoulders and tried again, “Dijju… Listen, I will not do those 10 pages of handwriting and the book you gave me to read is so boring. What was the name? Wonder?”

I gave him a death glare and muttered, “Wonder is so so much better than you and this filthy attitude of yours.”

“Okay, I will give you my Bounty. And also do 5 pages.” He tried to persuade me. “Do all ten and I might consider my anger.” I replied curtly.

“Fine.” He gave in and went out of the room. “Don’t forget my bounty.” I screamed behind him.

As I saw that he was way out of my sight, I took out my notebook again. That was an apology? I know he isn’t going to do his homework. He only wants to prove to me that I melt easily but no! I will complete the recipe.

7.     Now, heat some venomous sarcasm on a pan of cockism until it forms a paste.

8.     Top the tear shaped biscuits with the venomous cream.

9.     Take out the chilled happy memories with your brother from the refrigerator, unwrap it and place it beside your biscuits.

10.    Take a bite of your biscuits, drink some water and then after some time take a bite of the happy memories.


Now comes the trickiest part…

11.     If you find the happy memories tastier than those biscuits (which I’m sure you will) throw those biscuits into the trashcan and go hug your brother.


Nothing can/should come between the two of you, if you don’t allow it; not even my amazing recipe on how to kill your brother and that enough should be an explanation.


Until next time buddy,


“Adi..” I screamed from my room. He came running as if his life depended on it. I launched forward and hugged him tight. “I love you.” I said. He smiled from ear to ear and said, “I always knew it.” My eyebrows shot up. “No matter how many serial killer documentaries you watch, you aren’t good at murdering people.” He continued. My eyes grew wider and I mouthed a how. “Just because I don’t do my homework doesn’t mean I can’t read.” He said as he hugged me tighter and whispered I love you too, by the way.

by Saiyara Bist

21 year old ambitious procrastinator.
Psych major. Bookworm.


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