Groom Wars

1. Pick Me Or I'll Die

January 1, 2090,

We were prisoners to fate, as much as fate was imprisoned by some higher, unseen power. We tried to fight our fate, tackle it, change it, destroy it, but despite our misguided attempts to destabilize it, fate lived. Fate thrived.

I gazed at the layer of frost covering the windowpane. A small mountain of snow collected on the window's outer ledge. Luckily, inside the comforts of my room, I wasn't subject to winter's harsh abuse. My friend, Forrester was inventing the guitar melody for my newest single.

As I sat before the computer, working on combining the tracks, I paused to study Forrester. He ensconced on my bed, acoustic guitar in his lap. He had wild curly black hair, like sheep's wool. His dark brows pinched in concentration as he muttered under his breath and tried to pick the correct chords. He paused, mid-thought, and said, "Sing the first part again."

I sang,

"I see you when you're lost somewhere dark

Trying to get rid of the hate in your heart

I see you. I see you-

I hear you when you're crying for help

But you think no one cares

I hear you. I hear you-"

After I finished singing, I added, "And we should do something like an echo, or a low scream, going, 'Ahhh- ahhhh', you know to really hit their ears and give them the chills, you get me?"

Forrester nodded. "Yeah, I think what we have is good so far, and I see where you're going with it. Not bad. I think they'll like it." After messing around for a bit, he chose E-flat major for his part, saying, "It matches your voice." The rich sound filled the room as he strummed fast, keeping with my original tempo. It was an alternative pop song, and he got the feeling behind it. His fingers blurred as he used a pick to dust the strings. The notes rebounded off the acoustic panelling. He paused, cocked his head to one side, hair falling onto his eyelashes. "So, what are you thinking for the drum hook?"

Before I could answer, I heard shrieks across the hall; Forrester and I exchanged a glance. He and I had been friends since elementary school, so he was no stranger to my family and our craziness. I flashed him a small smile. They would be here any second. My sisters' hurried steps neared the door, and Forester, being the shy guy he was, had a terrified expression on his face as he tried to figure out what to do with his hands and feet. He settled on holding his guitar and pleading with me with his eyes to tell them not to harass him.

Yeah.

No.

I couldn't control my sisters.

The four of them, without knocking, let themselves inside and, varying in beauty from eldest to youngest went on to belt out a storm of words that made no sense to me. My twelve-year-old sister, Mia, broke off mid-scream to give Forrester a hug. With his tall stature and bushy hair, she always compared him to a tree. I think she had a tiny crush on him, but he was nineteen, she was twelve and ignorant, naïve, so I naturally didn't approve of it. But she tended to like older guys. If not Forrester, then she would have a crush on the guy down the street that worked in the navy. Forrester, on the other hand, froze and was pleading with me internally to get her off him. I showed him that my hands were full of air, and I was unable to help him. The air was quite heavy. It filled both hands and weighed them down. 'I'm sorry, my friend, but you'll live. I can't deal with her crazy energy right now, so she's all yours.'

He was probably cursing our entire family in his head.

Mia played in Forrester's bushy hair. Forrester was awkward with most people. He couldn't speak around them, which only made my piranha-like sisters tease him more. When they smelled blood and weakness, they pounced. Really, he did this to himself. I could no longer save him.