Tripping

Living Tumblr and British M&Ms

“Bloody hell, can you make her shut up?” Peter groans, turning to Ley. We’re waiting at the doorway while our parents clear up dinner.

“I thought of trying,” she replies nonchalantly while pulling on her converse, “but then I’d go to jail and I don’t do public toilets.”

I roll my eyes and focus on tying my laces while Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum discuss ways to hide my body after the murder. Peter turns out to have a lot of things in common with my sister, mostly their love of tormenting me. So, now instead of having one soul-sucking little sibling, I have two. Not. Fair.

It all started at the dinner table, as many family disagreements start. The way Peter had been so cold to everyone just made me want to reach out and help him since all book characters and psychology lessons show that people who are cold and distant often have a broken soul in need of love.

God, I tried everything to get that boy to open up to me. I tried being friendly and smiling but he just said I looked like a “floozy”. I tried talking but conversation just wasn’t working. I tried topics from school, to friends, to TV shows, to music, to video games-every possible topic a teenage boy would be interested in! Or even a person would be interested in! Yet all I got were glares and a mumble in reply.

Finally, after another round of one-word answers, a forced smile, and drowning my frustration in mashed potatoes, even Ley was done with me.

“God, just shut up Ro,” she gave out an exasperated sigh. Then she turned to her left toward Peter. “With her around,” she gestured to me, “get used to having another mom around here.”

I was about to smack Ley for making such an insensitive comment when he was clearly sensitive on the topic of mothers, when Peter burst out laughing for the first time since we saw him. I have to say I was marvelled that his face was even capable of smiling.

Anyway, ever since then, Ley and Peter have been talking nonstop, mostly about how annoying I am. Well excuse me or being a big sister. Pfft. 

But I do think Peter is opening up since he’s showing no hesitation towards insulting me-I blame Leyla. And I’ve already heard her say, “bloody” in a sentence twice so I’m not eager as to what the terrible twos will be by the end of our three days.

“She’s tall though,” Peter says now leaning against the wall next to the door. “We can’t make her fit in a closed space.”

“Only 5’8,” Ley snaps without thinking. She’s only 5’2 and hates it, and hates my height. “Besides,” she recovers, “Ro told me about this short story where the guy murders someone and chops his body so it fits under the floorboards. We can do that.”

“Genius,” the boy replies looking up at the ceiling as if imagining the plot. The thought makes me shiver.

“The story you are referring to is A Tell Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe who had a preference to write dark literature with complex themes,” I stand leaning against the stair railing. “And the guy in it was mad.”

Peter just shrugs saying, “You make us mad.” This is followed by Ley laughing like a hyena. 

Sighing for the billionth time that hour, I decide to wait outside. I walk out and turn to close the front door when I bump into a gho-old man. Yep, a gold man. Okay I was about to say ghost but in my defense he looks like one. He looks about 108 years old, thin hair as white as snow sweeps over his head in a comb-over manner. The skin on his hands and face wrinkled with the passage of time, his eyes a piercing pale blue holding years of wisdom…and now diluted in fear.

A scream leaps out of my mouth involuntarily and the poor man stumbles backwards towards the steep staircase, letting out no more than a yelp of surprise. If he falls down those things, I’m going to be the one who needs to hide the body. I’M GOING TO BE A MURDERER.