Toddlers and Traumas

Prologue : Welcome to the McLeens

Hi. My name is Becky McLeen. I'm eight years old and I'm a 2nd year elementary student.

I don't have any problems in school. My grades are in the top ten and the teachers love me. In fact, I'm one of the role models in school.

But at home, things take a darker turn.

I'm the eldest child and daughter in a family of six. I'm also a very good big sister to my three little siblings.

My name is Becky McLeen. And this is my family.

***

I slowly climb on the staircase, passing the empty mailbox. I don't understand why our front door has more than ten steps, considering that most of our family members are unsupervised toddlers. But hey, were not normal after all, so beats me.

If you're questioning the old mattress on the bottom of the staircase, you should ask Mom and the twins. I'm sure they can give you a better explanation. Let's just say it involves the twins who constantly plunge to their deaths.

I stare blankly at the oak door in front of me, letting out a sigh. Sometimes school is better than home after all, because who knows what chaos awaits for me behind that door?

Despite the possibility of the house getting set on fire increasing by 0.5% everyday, we're still alive.

I still lived for eight years in that exact same house and I really hope that I can at least stay until high school without having to move.

Standing on my tip toes, I press on the doorbell. A faint "ding dong" echoed through the house.

"Nick, get the door!" that's Mom's voice.

"Too lazy. Allan, you do it." Came Dad's reply.

"Come back here, Layla! Devil Baby!" my little brother Allan shouted.

"I got the guns! Surrender, Sister!" and that's Allan's twin brother, Alfred.

"nO!" Layla, the youngest family member blabbered.

"Get the door!" Mom repeated.

"GET HER! FIRE AT ONCE, MEN!" the twins chorused.

"Fine. I'll get the door." Dad stated. There was a loud "BANG!" and a scream of horror, followed by a baby's cry, before the door finally swung open.

"I'm home." I stated in a monotone voice. Dad responded with a hum before heading back to the kitchen, taking a sip of his coffee.

My blonde hair and blue eyes match Dad's. A lot of people say that I'm the younger female version of Dad. But I have curly hair.

"Welcome home, Becky!" Mom shouted from the kitchen.

"Alfie! Becky's back!" Allan shouted. Tiny footsteps approached me, and two brunettes tackle me to the ground.

"IN POSITION!" Allan, the shorter twin shouted, aiming his Nerve gun at my face.

"READY AT COMMAND, SIR!" Alfred, the taller one, replied from behind me, his legs pinning my arms down.

"MOM!" I cried for help, despite being used to the situation. I must agree that having them pin everyone down every time they enter from the front door is already a tradition to us.

But even Dad can't deny that getting slapped by ten (or possibly more) Nerve bullets on the face hurt like getting slapped by a girl's ponytail. Possibly more.

"What is it now?" Mom asked, exiting the kitchen with a frying pan and a spatula in her hands. "Cant you see I'm busy - ALLAN AND ALFRED GET OFF OF YOUR BIG SISTER!"

The twins let out a 'tch' before finally jumping off of me. They sent me a silent glare.

That's not a good sign. I've been marked as their target. Time to upgrade my fortress.

"How many times should I tell you to not ambush anyone who comes through that door!? Must I confiscate your Nerve guns again!?" Mom scolded the twins. Although even Layla knows that her complains fall on deaf ears.

It's rather hard to tell which twin is which, when you're not familiar with them. Allan is the shorter one ("By only three centimeters!" Allan defended), and Alfred is the taller one.

Allan is the louder one, and Alfred's more salty and sarcastic.

Allan's hair is more disheveled than Alfred's.

But the both of the twins' mischiefs complete each other. That's what makes them the troublesome duo.

Mom and the twins share the same facial features. Brown hair and chocolate orbs. Mom's hair is wavier than the twins, though, which kind of explains why Layla has curly hair.

Layla, the pride and joy of the family. She's too pretty and talented for her own good. Which kind of explains why the twins never miss a chance to try and kill her.

"We're not jealous, we're envious." The twins stated.

Anyway, Layla has Mom's curly brown hair, and mine and Dad's blue eyes. Once we were playing with paint as a family activity and she ended up making a reincarnation of the "Royal Red and Blue" painting by Mark Rothko (if you don't know which painting I'm referring to you can always use Google).

Of course, it isn't as good as the original, but for a two-year-old, it's one heck of an achievement.

So, a careless father, a stressed mother, a mature eight-year-old, and a super talented two-year-old whos constantly targeted by bloodthirsty five-year-old twins.

Welcome to the McLeens, enjoy your stay.