Mania

*I AM HORRIBLE AT WRITING THESE KINDS OF STORIES. PLEASE OVERLOOK HOW DISGUSTINGLY BAD THIS IS.

I squeezed my Paul Mitchell shampoo, but nothing came out. I squeezed harder. Nothing. Groaning, I got out the shower and wrapped a towel around myself. I stalked out of my room and into the one next to it, my twin brother’s. I barged into his bathroom.

“What the hell, Ireland!” Hunter yelled, covering himself. “I’m taking a piss!”

“I don’t give a shit!” I seethed, throwing the empty shampoo bottle at him. He ducked before the it could hit him and pee sprayed on the wall. I sure as hell wasn’t cleaning that up.

“Get out of here!” he yelled at me. Before I knew it the front of my towel and my face were soaked with warm pee.

“Damn you, Hunter!” I yelled at him, baring my fangs. Hunter let his out, too, and we leaped at each other.

“Ow!” I whisper-yelled.

“Stop it, stop it!” Hunter hissed.

“You have rings on, it’s not fair!” 

“Having fun?” 

Hunter and I instantly ended our sissy fight when we saw who was standing in the doorway.

“Uh, hi mom,” I said casually. My mother, Caroline Richardson, could be the sweetest woman in the world, then be a heartless, cruel bloodsucker. 

In fact, now that I mention it, my whole family are vampires. The whole United States is. The government accidentally put some genetically modified gene in vegetable crops that was supposed to kill the insects. Instead, it turned us into vampires. We call it the Happening. (Original, right?) Luckily, we only need to eat blood once a month, so we feed on animals. 

We can eat regular food. Yeah that’s right. Screw Edward and Bella, they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. I told you this wasn’t the typical vampire story.

“What did I tell you about fighting?” my mother asked, her red eyes flashing.

“Whaaat?” Hunter scoffed. “Psht. We weren’t fighting. Psht.”

“Yeah,” I added. “Psht. We were, um, examining each other’s fingernails.” My mom rolled her eyes.

“Ireland, get out of Hunter’s bathroom and clean the piss off your face. Hunter, stop using your sister’s shampoo before you smell like a fag. You two are twenty-seven, quit acting seventeen.” We really couldn’t help it. We were seventeen when we stopped aging, so it was kind of hard to act twenty-seven in a seventeen year old’s body.

“Bus comes in twenty minutes, let’s move, move, MOVE!” 

With a few brisk steps my mother was out.

Hunter and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Clean the piss off your face!” I squawked, laughing hard.

“Smell like a fag!” Hunter gasped, doubled over. 

We apologized to each other and I headed back to my bathroom and got my extra bottle of shampoo, re-took my shower and threw on some white skinny jeans, my green converse, and a purple sleeveless button-up shirt. I grabbed my backpack and my phone and went downstairs, where my father, Alexander, was sitting at the table drinking coffee, staring intently at everything. “What’s wrong?” I asked, sensing uneasiness.

“The house,” my dad replied. I shrugged.

“What about it?”

“It’s dirty.”