Nico Mirallegro as Ryan Williams. O.O
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Thursday, November 3rd, 2022, Breakfast.
I swear to God I was going to murder Hugo.
What had caused these homicidal tendencies?
Well, for one, he'd sat down beside me and bragged about the letter he'd gotten from Mum and how she'd sent him an early birthday present and all. His birthday is in three weeks. I repeat: THREE weeks.
She sure loves him a lot.
The little tosser's going to turn 14. And, I, 16, in a month and a half or so.
Then, he shoved it into my face how little work he had to do and how he'd heard about the O.W.L.S. thing, and how it was going to be, and I quote, "a real pain in the arse."
When did my little brother start swearing?
I have no idea.
In school, my brother and I barely spoke. I saw him everyday at the table, occasionally at the dorms, and even sometimes walking down staircases, and I always knew he was alright. He seemed to be a complete nuisance as per usual but at least I knew the people he was mates with weren't snobby twats who didn't care about him at all and were only using him. He was in good hands. His mates were even nerdier than he was, deep inside. Besides, Fred, for some strange reason, was surprisingly always close to Hugo. Just like I've always been very close to James. Fred was more of a sibling to him than I was.
I felt like a stranger to my own blood. Laura and Elle and James felt more like family to me than Hugo did. I mean, of course I love my brother. I held his newborn self in my own tiny 2 year old arms and thought, "You are now my world, everything I have is yours, everything I am and will ever be is yours," or I guess something along those lines--I did. I felt like I needed to protect that baby with all my life because he was such a precious miracle. Even my two year old self could feel this grand, profound sense of sisterhood. But, now, I just don't see where I fit in his life. I sometimes don't feel like I'm needed or, more so, wanted. I'm the embarassing older sister. He doesn't want me around, nagging him. I guess I don't either.
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Thursday, November 3rd, 2022, Arithmacy.
BRAIN, BRAIN, HE'S HERE, HE'S HERE. OVER.
Brain: Roger that, captain. Do not panic. Over.
MAYDAY, MAYDAY. HE IS APPROACHING ME. HE IS WALKING TOWARDS ME. I'M LOSING MY ENGINES. OVER.
Brain: Calm down, restart your engines. Over.
I'M AFRAID MY ENGINES WON'T RESTART, I AM DYING. WILL HAVE TO CRASH LAND. OVER.
Brain: It's just Ryan Williams. You are not having a cardiac arrest, your engines are fine. Over.
MY ENGINES ARE FAILING, MY ENGINES ARE FAILING.
"Hey."
There it was.
The first time Ryan Williams ever spoke to me. My engines did indeed fail, my heart wasn't doing its job at all. It was playing darts with spaghetti. It was more useless than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest. It was--
Brain: Focus on the target, captain. P.S. Do not repeat analogies you have heard your cousin James use. Find your own sense of humor. Over.
OKAY, FINE. OVER AND OUT.
"Hi," I squeaked out in surprise like a scared little mouse caught by someone in the dead of the night, stealing sweets from a kitchen. I then cleared my throat and tried sounding casual and deepening my voice, which only made me sound like a whale, "What's up?"
YOU ARE READING
Vermilion (SCOROSE)
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