The Girl with a Toaster

1. Hell

I slide my head out from behind the barrier. Instant mistake.

My kid brother pulls the trigger and releases one round of ammunition. The trajectory is unmistakably perfect. Clever boy he is, waiting for me to make myself vulnerable. His patience earns him the headshot.

I close my eyes as the shot makes contact with my head. My conquered body plummets to the ground.

"Ah, ya got me!" I exclaim in defeat.

"Yeah!" My brother throws up his arms as the victor. "Never mess with Radical Roger!" He runs across the floor littered with foam darts to my side and does his celebratory floss dance.

"Gotcha!" I grab his leg and pull him to the floor. He pleads freedom as I trap him with the tickles. His efforts to break free are futile.

There is, however, one person who can break apart the brawl. She charges into the room with fury. "Kids, it's late! Clean up and get to bed!"

I protest with a legit excuse - "I still have to study for my history test tomorrow!"

"Why are you not studying right now?!" she barks in irritation.

"Priorities, aunt Fwey! Radical Roger was on the loose, and someone's gotta take him out!" I swipe darts off the ground and chuck them at my brother. He returns fire.

"Stop it right now! Clean up." She strengthens her tone with me. "You want Roger to grow up irresponsible like you?!"

She takes one of the guns off the couch and storms into the kitchen. We hear her pop open the trash can and dump it in.

In this house, the trash is an abyss. When aunt Fwey tosses something into it, you never go after it, no matter what it is. Last year, she caught Roger playing his Gameboy in bed past curfew. She swiped the device from him and chucked it straight into the trash. Screaming and crying, he went after it. Roger received a beating and never saw the console again.

A few years ago my parents went on a hike at Mount Zion, leaving us in the care of our aunt. Halfway into the week, we got received a call. Police told us that our parents took a fatal fall. Both of them.

We loved our parents and they loved each other. Sometimes I like to imagine that my mom had slipped on the mountain and my dad tried to save her. He'd do that for her.

They gave Roger that Gameboy.

Since then, we've been living here. If there exists a Hell, we are in it, and aunt Fwey is our designated torturer. We constantly find ourselves grounded for failing to meet her academic expectations, and she loves to snuff the joy out of everything. This isn't how it's supposed to be. My brother is only two years from his teens and it's my responsibility to show him how to enjoy life, ya know? It's kind of hard when we've got a draconian monster breathing down our necks.

We gather the weaponry, short one gun, and stow it away. Before heading to my room, I exchange a fist bump with Roger. He gives me a hampered smile. Thanks, aunt Fwey, for ruining this kid's childhood. I hate her.

I run down the hall and slide with precision. My socks provide enough friction against the wooden floor to stop me directly in front of my room.

Studying–the bane of my sanity. Why should I care about nineteenth century America? Who invented such a monotonous method of learning? Why study when you can do stuff? Cramming so much useless information into my brain is only good for two things. One, sleep depravity. Two, stress-induced pimples.

Welcome to my ordinary life. Buttered toast in the morn, boring lectures in the afternoon, eye contact with a cute girl between classes, procrastination at home, brotherly dart wars, and family issues. I'd leave it all behind in a heartbeat, but I can't abandon my brother. Not with this savage aunt of ours.

An hour into my textbook, I glance at the clock. It's nearing midnight.

WAZHWONG!

The low-pitched zing startles me. I turn my head to see what it is.

Welcome to the end of my ordinary life.