When Sweet Bro was just a child, his father had invited him on to his tweed clad lap, and said to him: "Take heed of those stairs son. Take heed."
Then his father had dismissed him. Sweet Bro put this down to be one of the old man's eccentricities, and toddled off to his nursery, to frolic among his various toys and games.
The advice did not resonate with him, till many a year later. Sweet Bro laughed, with a bitterness upon his tongue, when he looked back on the advice he has so gleefully dismissed.
From that merry child, Sweet Bro had grown into a stout young man. He wore a meager beard, which he had little energy to maintain, and had black hair, which he spiked up, most days - regardless of whether he was leaving the house or not (for we must all have our little vanities and such). He was an average student at school. He had few friends and enjoyed arcade games and basketball. His family viewed him as something of a loaner - but he would not indulge such a romanticised image of himself. He was merely shy, and had interests that would capture the imagination of few other boys.
It was on a muggy July afternoon in 1987, a year after graduating high school, that he first met Hella Jeff.
Though both detected a chemistry, they approached their friendship with a kind of heady tentativeness - like a virgin approaches her new husband on their wedding night.
Delighted to have finally found a fellow with which he had something in common, yet concerned with approaching the other with too much enthusiasm - for fear they would each frighten the other away.
Sweet Bro often admired Hella Jeff's pouffy brown hair, wondering how he injected that cropped mass of curls with such bounce and volume. He was positively enchanted by the set of his mouth - which seemed as if it was constantly wooting, or passing a reminder of a warning.
Sweet Bro imagined, that if he had been a shade less heterosexual, he could have easily fallen in love with Hella Jeff. But he valued their friendship too heavily to ever give the thought much consideration.
They would become roommates, living together in an old victorian manor house (creaky, with a seemingly endless staircase) in the winter of 1989 - and in that moment, Sweet Bro knew that he had truely made a friend for life.
On their first day in the house, as they unpacked boxes in the hallway, Hella Jeff nudged Sweet Bro.
"Watch out for those stairs bro." He said.
Sweet Bro nodded noncommittally, then returned to unpacking the boxes.
"I can't wait to be a useless piece of shit all day and play these games." Said Sweet Bro, more to himself than Hella Jeff, who was already at the bottom of the stairs - awaiting the games Sweet bro was about to bestow upon their Sega.
It was the fall of 1997, and Sweet Bro had found that time had been kind to he and Hella Jeff. They had, as of yet, be unable to quite bring themselves to leave that purgatory of young adulthood, and truly enter that frightening "grown up" world of ours, they remained youthful and spritely.
It is perhaps because of this lack of acceptance of the aging process that they remained so juvenile.
Sweet Bro regarded his stack of games fondly, daydreaming of all the fun he and Hella Jeff were about to have with Sonic and Mario and such. he was so caught up with this daydream in fact, so busy mentally waltzing with the image of a blue hedgehog - that he failed to notice the fact that his foot had caught in the leg of his trousers.
Well, such a disaster could have easily been avoided if Sweet Bro had headed the warnings given to him by his father and Hella Jeff, surely the two most influential men in his life. Sweet Bro knew only too well of his folly, as his tender head seemed to crack against each and step.
"Fuck! I'm falling down all these stairs!" He cried, to subtly alert Hella Jeff to his plight.
Hella Jeff looked upon him with cold disappointed eyes. His image swirled as Sweet Bro began to feel tears well, and leak down his cheeks.
"I warned you about stairs bro." He whispered, staring daggers at the tumbling Sweet Bro. Sweet Bro felt Hella Jeff's disappointment in every fiber of his being. It hurt ten times as much as the hardwood blow of each stair.
"I told you dog." Hella Jeff hissed.
"It keeps happening!" Sweet Bro screamed - as he remembered all those he had disappointed. All the hearts he had inadvertently broken by pig-headedly ignoring their sound advice.
He wept for them, silently, and hoped that each new stair would crack open his useless head.
After roughly three hours he landed - bruised, bloodied and wet with his own tears - at Hella Jeff's feet.
"I told you man. I told you about stairs." He said. His voice was hollow.
He delivered a single kick to Sweet Bro's side. Sweet Bro heard only footsteps then, and the slamming of the door.
Lying amongst the games, he balled like a new born baby. Like a child. He looked to the heavens and knew that if their truly was a God, he would answer Sweet Bro's prayers. He prayed God would end his life. He prayed God would stop his pain, and the pain he was causing others.
No God answered him.