Black Circus

Prologue

Christine held the cup of water over the painting threateningly. Her small mouth parted into a mischievous grin.

If I were to move, she would spill the whole glass.

"No." I said.

She didn't even bother trying to hide the joy on her face. I looked at her. From the gleam in her eyes I could tell that she was trying to provoke me. She wanted to get me in trouble.

"Then give me your paints."
Christine said.

I grit my teeth.

"No. These are mine. They're new and you have your own."

She pretended to frown. Those who don't know her would have looked at her and assume she was genuinely annoyed but I knew better. I knew how quickly that frown would disappear once her parents hear that I 'wasn't sharing'. What a perfect little actress she was. She could even fool her own parents. No. Her parents wanted to be fooled.
"Christine. I said no. Don't be such a brat. Don't spill on my painting." I said as calmly as I could manage.

Her lower lip trembled, which, for some ridiculous reason, also caused her hand that was holding the glass to shake. A few drops escaped from the brim, falling onto my painting.

"What the hell is your problem?!" I screamed as I knocked the glass out of her hand. It fell to the floor with a noticeably loud crash.

That was my first mistake of the day.

"Mama!" Christine screamed as she tried to run out of the room.
I grabbed her wrist to stop her and she fell to the floor with another noticeably large crash. She began howling at the top of her lungs.

The whole neighborhood heard her cries several times before but they had politely pretended not to as they welcomed her in their house, offering sweets or other goodies.

I put my palm over her mouth.
"Shut up. You're going to be be in trouble too!" I hissed.

It was too late. I heard loud footsteps thumping up the staircase.

Christine bit my palm- hard. I withdrew my hand sharply and heard Christine bawling again.
Moments like these reminded me why I detested her so much. The feeling of hatred would eventually dull until she did something like this again- which, I might add, was quite often. I supposed that is the relationship between most siblings except the love and hate would be balanced out.

She pushed me, which normally wouldn't have had any affect on me, and a fell backwards, landing on my back.

She scrambled to her feet and stood near the door. If the door hadn't already been ajar, it would have slammed open with force that would have caused the floor to shake.

The smell of smoke had woke me up. It was a powerful scent that burned my nostrils and yet, I enjoyed the smell.

I put a hand to my face. It was sticky and disgusting.

The smell grew stronger until the point it willed me to get up. As I did, I picked up a few scattered pencils on the floor. They only ended up being dropped on the floor again as a gutteral scream pierced the air. Out of habit, I bolted towards the direction of the noise.