She Just Wants A Sister

Five Abusive Brothers, One Abused Sister

Smack!

A fist landed hard on my petite face. My oldest brother, Mason, was grinning madly like an idiot.

"That'll teach you a lesson," he growled in a low voice before he aimed a foot at my stomach as well.

Welcome to my life.

I'm Elsie, eight-year-old genius who's already graduated elementary school and is studying in middle school. I've always had a knack for math and science since I was a toddler. You could say I was quite the opposite of my family, who were more into the design and business department.

Speaking of family, I have five older brothers and a father, leaving me as the youngest and only girl in the family. My mother died when she gave birth to me, leaving me to fend myself from my brothers who never liked me. They didn't like me because I was smart, unlike them. I could easily make simultaneous expressions in my head without writing it down. My dad and brothers, on the other hand, prefered discussing their advertising strategies for their new line of, well, clothes. I told my family that I would rather not be involved in the business and do my own thing instead.

My father, though he found it hard to accept, didn't speak much to me after that and pretty much didn't bother me a lot. And my brothers...well, they couldn't handle it. I was always saying and doing things they perceived as 'weird' and 'nerdy', so they didn't really care about me. But after my announcement to the family about my descision, it was the last straw for them. They started picking on me - no, worse, - abusing me.

They all expected me to be 'perfect', to put it simply.

But I'm not perfect. And I'm certainly not like them.

Mason's foot hit a blow into my stomach as I groaned and fell to the ground.

"That'll teach you to mess with me, you little brat," he spat. Then he stomped on me hard before he left the room.

I got up from my position and sobbed.

Earlier on, my father had told me that dinner was ready, and that I had to call my brothers down to eat. I don't know why he makes me do it. He knows very well that they abuse me. He would always watch quietly from a distance as my brothers tackle me, slap me, kick me, push me, and sometimes place their burning cigarettes on my skin. Yet he never raised a hand to help or intervene. He would just watch awkwardly as he racked his brain for ideas on what to do. Occasionally, he would calmly tell them to sit down or go to their rooms, but that was about it.

I sighed as I dragged my feet up the stairs to the first floor of our house. I knocked on the fist door to the right.

"Mason, it's dinner time," I announced.

"Go away," he shouted from inside as game sound effects sounded from his TV screen.

"Dad wants us down right now," I pushed.

"I said go away." He was starting to get furious.

Then I made a mistake and did what Dad always did. I barged into his room and plugged out his gaming console.

That's where it started.

I sniffed as I tried to pick myself up from the floor. Why does this always happen to me? I thought as I attempted to make my way to the door. I dried my tears with my pink wooly cardigan. Dad told me that it was a cardigan that belonged to my mom when she was a child. It is something I treasure very much.

Sucking all my tears in, I moved to the next room and knocked hesitantly.

"Dinners ready," I called out in a weak voice.