In my house, there is a large, framed picture of the five of us.

Actually, there are many photos of us five. Six, if you want to count that half-sized little twit.

Even in photos, it's noticeable.

Maybe that's what instigated my decision. The pictures. I don't know. To borrow an overused phrase, I don't know anything anymore.

I think it was just too much. This feeling just built up and accumulated over time.

Take, for example, last week.

"Berwald. Tino. Hi," I had greeted, stepping into their house.

"Peter! Don't- no, STOP!" yelped Tino, rushing past me to tend to his 'son.'

"Busy, huh, Berwald?" I remarked, but that had gone unheard as well.

"L'sten t' y'r m'm, P'ter," he had grumbled amusingly, quietly doting over his nitwit of a son from a distance.

Ok, I get that when your kid's trying to set the curtains on fire, it might be one of the few acceptable times to ignore your houseguest. But afterwards as well?

I felt about as welcome in their home as a cockroach.

Muttering a weak excuse (not that it mattered; they were so absorbed in whatever Peter was doing to notice that I was leaving), I ditched to go find my brother, and maybe have a cup of coffee with him or something. You know, quality brotherly-family time.

When I arrived at his place, he was already having coffee. With Matthias.

Whatever, I thought to myself. Maybe I can still just join in.

Sometimes, I'm such an idiot. Or I'm too optimistic. I think they amount to the same thing.

I plunked myself down at the table while Matthias was rambling on about something stupid.

"Hey-"

"AND, LUKAS. THEY. RAN. OUT. OF. THE RASPBERRY. DANISHES. Can you believe it?"

"Interesting, Matthias, but-"

"I prefer the blueberry ones," my brother cut in, interrupting me.

"Danishes are good," I added on weakly, not that anyone noticed, of course.

Matthias beamed at Lukas. "I know you do. And guess what I got'cha?" He took out a box of Danishes. "Blueberry!"

"Idiot. I said I preferred blueberry, but I never said that I liked Danishes in the first place."

"So you don't want them?" Matthias asked. I could tell that he was trying not to fall apart.

As was I. Actually, it was more of an imploding kind of feeling, from being ignored so much. You would've thought that I'm used to it by now.

But I'm not.

Anyways...

"I guess I'm just gonna have to eat all this by myself then," Matthias sniffled wistfully.

Lukas sighed, defeated. "Just give it..."

Matthias perked up at an impossibly fast rate. "You'll eat them?"

"Only to deprive you of something you like."

"YAAAAAAAAAAY!" Matthias cheered, throwing his arms around my brother.

Predicting (correctly) that no one was going to offer me a Danish, or speak to me anytime soon, I left before the scene could get any happier.

That was just one of the countless examples of how they neglect me.

It's obvious even in the pictures. Tino, Berwald, and, in the more recent photos, Peter, are clustered in a little group together. Matthias and my brother are always within a close proximity of each other.

And me?

Well, as for me, I'm always standing aloofly away from everyone else.

After tonight, they won't do this anymore.

Strangled laughter sprawls out of my throat.

The smooth glass covering the picture is now lacerated in three places. Thin veins of shattered glass lace through Matthias, Tino, and that annoying midget, Peter.

I set out to put my plan into action.

The deed is done. I wipe away the final, stubborn traces of lingering crimson, which are starting to rust already.

A smirk slides onto my lips as I hear my beloved pet puffin pick at the remains of my three victims. There is a wet, squelching noise. A spherical object comes dangerously close to my gleaming white boots. Oh. Pity. They're actually not all that white anymore. I resolve to take care of this later. These are my favorite pair of boots, after all.

I can't wait to see Berwald and my dearest brother. Their faces when I tell them the news.

I already anticipate what they'll try to do to themselves to stop the pain, suffering, and forlornness, but I won't let them, no, I won't.

Another laugh escapes my lips.

We'll see who's the lonesome one now.