Nothing Left to Give *completed*

Nothing Left to Give - Chapter 1

The pic on the side is of Autumn (besides for the eyes of course), and I swear, I didn't know who it was when I found it XD Purely coincidental.

Autumn’s POV

I sigh my disapproval as my brothers launch themselves at each other, grappling for the single candy bar that sits on our glass-topped coffee table. I walk around them – they are too involved in fighting to notice me. Their mistake – and grab the small bar of Heaven. I pull on the corner, a vertical slit revealing the rich chocolaty goodness that my whole family worships. The reflective wrapping glints across the room. My brothers freeze, staring at me with mixed expressions of awe (for the chocolate, not me), fear (for me, not the chocolate), envy, rage, and disbelief. It’s quite laughable really.

They gasp in unison as I sink my teeth in and bite off a chunk, chewing it slowly just to taunt them.

“How-how dare you!” my older brother, Eric, stutters, eyes growing as wide as saucers and beyond in his horror. Ahh… I love the smell of torment in the evening.

  My younger brother, Devon, points an accusing finger. “This is treasonous!” he claims. “Me and Eric were having a fight to the death for that!” I stick my tongue out at him in a ‘mundane and barbaric’ reply. Devon has always been very dramatic and it annoys the heck out of him when Eric and I don’t play along. So, I make a point of brushing off any of his attempts with the simplest, most childish responses I can think up.

I yawn, gaping my jaws wide enough to flash them my tonsils. “Your point?” I ask, popping the ‘p’ for max annoyance. For good measure (and just to make them squirm) I tear off another blob of chocolate.

I bring my nails up to my face, picking at the chipping red paint. “We all know how I hate to disappoint,” I say slowly, a grin crawling it’s way over my face. “You could always have a fight to the death with me.” Half way through the sentence, I shift my  nails into razorblade claws, flexing them out for the boys to see.

“Never mind,” Devon squeaks, drawing his head tight against his shoulders, half hidden in the neck line of his T-shirt. He blushes a shockingly bright color that brings out tints of red in his muddy brown hair, and setting his green eyes into sharp contrast.

“That’s what I though, Turtle-Boy.” That, is where the fear part of my above statement came from. Devon, Eric and I, are shifters – werewolves I guess - only three in a pack of 168. Out of all those 168, I am the best fighter, the most dangerous, despite my size and age. I am short for a shifter. As in very short. Very, very. I am more than a foot shorter than the average full grown shifter, almost a foot shorter than the others my own age. My age you ask? Only 16. And I’m a girl too! Beat that, you sexist pigs!

I smirk in triumph, flouncing to my room and plopping down in my computer chair. It spins around and around before stopping, facing the opposite direction than I want it to.

“Aww,” I say to myself, pouting, “I thought I had mastered that move.” I twist the chair around, pressing the little button on my computer that is supposed to turn it on. My computer is a dinosaur, and the little button is a temperamental dinosaur so I have to kick it a few times before the little light actually comes on and the computer hums to life. Actually, the poor obsolete thing more of burps into commission, but, ehh, good enough for me. I wrinkle my nose at the bumpy stuttering and kick my feet onto the keyboard.

With a final hum/burp/cough, the computer fizzles to my very pixilated desktop. I click the icon vaguely recognizable as an E-mail symbol. A weak glow surrounds my monitor, the only light source in my constantly dim room.