The Texas sun flooded into the room and shined onto the sleeping teenager's face, slowly waking him from a deep sleep. With a grudge, he wiped his eyes and fumbled around the bedside table, hand probing for his sunglasses. As his fingers came into touch with the smooth plastic, he raised them up, unfolded the arms, and slipped them on. The sun was instantly tinted and the room became a dark shade of amber as he opened his eyes and looked through the lenses. He yawned and stretched his slender, yet masculine arms above his head, his joints popping quietly. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and eased up onto his feet. He looked over at the alarm clock, sighing at the time. It was only 8:05. Wearing only his crimson boxers and his blonde hair in a mess, the boy shuffled across the floor and held his hand out towards the glistening door handle. As his fingers came into contact with the cold metal, a shiver ran down his spine and he slowly turned it, swinging the door open.
He was greeted by the plush rump of a smuppet to the foot as he took a step out of the room, almost falling to the ground. He let out a small cry before catching himself and standing up once again, only to kick the stuffed doll into the nearest wall. He grumbled into the kitchen, opening the fridge door and searched for something to eat while soaking up the cool refreshing air that emanated from inside. Seeing nothing that would satisfy his hunger, he took out a can of Coke from the top shelf and cracked it open, taking a long sip, then walked to get in the living room, flopping down on the rugged and beat-down sofa. He sat there for a while, gazing into space in complete silence before he took another drink. He eventually stood up once again and went into Bro's room, feeling a knot form in his stomach as if he were intruding into a sacred and holy area.
As he inched the door open, the shadows receded from him as the curtains blocked the sun from entering. Pieces of scrap metal and different tools were spread out along the work table in an organized mess, cleverly stacked in some areas. The sheets on the futon directly in front of the teenager were tossed to the side, a pillow and the top blanket lying on the ground. The TV that sat in front of the bed was shut off, a multitude of different colored smuppets surrounding it. In the corner, two of his projects, a tall slender piece of machinery, Sawtooth, and a short cube like robot, Squarewave, collected dust as they hibernated within the shadows. On one of the stereo systems, a plaster-white faced doll sat, orange limbs sprouting from a blue Game Bro t-shirt and a hat sitting backwards on his head. Its blue eyes stared at the boy as a gold tooth glimmered from the light seeping in from the living room. The room was so familiar, yet so foreign to him, as if it had come straight out a dream. The blonde crept to the bed, quietly lying down as if he were afraid of being caught, and stared up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander…
*****
The clang of the metal colliding echoed through the Texas air as the taller male lunged at the younger with lightning speed, forcing the younger to slide on the balls of his feet. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to keep up with the attacks, occasionally being nicked by the oldest's blade as it swung by. This was the Strider tradition; strifing on the roof of their apartment building at the break of dawn. The younger Strider, Dave, had disadvantage as always, struggling to fight against his older brother. He pushed his attacker and flash-stepped behind him, letting out a mighty cry as he swiped his sword downwards, only to be blocked and thrown back. He landed on his feet and was quickly face to face with Bro, a gloved hand shoved into his gut so hard, he could have sworn his innards rearranged just then. Dave let out a yelp as he crashed onto the cement. He struggled to regain his breath as Bro towered over him.
"You give up yet, kid?" he asked with a slight drawl. His anime shades reflected the rising sun, illuminating his perfected poker face. Dirty blonde hair spiked out of the bottom of the grey hat he constantly wore as if it were glued to his head. His shirt was neatly tucked into his black jeans. Dave glared through his aviators, spitting at his feet.
