The shrill beeping of an alarm clock drags me out of my pleasant dreams, and I growl before crawling out of bed. The smell of cupcakes drifts past my nose, and the thought of Oliver happily frosting those little cakes irritates me for some unknown reason. I stomp down the stairs, my hands shoved in my pockets.
"Good morning, Allen!" Oliver sings as I slink into the kitchen. I glare at him, and the British bastard only chuckles and continues to frost those damn cupcakes of his.
"Oliver, it is literally seven in the morning. Why the hell are you baking?" I can't keep the viciousness out of my voice. Again, Oliver continues to squeeze frosting as pink as his hair onto the sponge-y little strawberry cakes he's always baking.
"Well, some of us like to join the world of the living earlier than noon, Allen," someone behind me sneers. I glance over my shoulder to see Matt stalking into the room, François entering a second later. My eye twitches, revealing just how irritated I am.
My brother smirks upon seeing my face, and for some reason he decides to poke me in the back of the head. Repeatedly.
It only takes a second for me to snap.
My hands curl into fists, and I swing wildly at the Canadian as he cackles. Only a few of my punches land, but it's enough to get Oliver and François involved. They drag us apart, but it does nothing to lessen the amount of punches and kicks I throw. Eventually, Oliver drags me out of the room. His iron grip pinches my wrist, but I don't stop fighting to get back to the fight.
"You need to calm down! You can come back in the house when you stop trying to murder your brother. Are we clear?" Oliver snaps as he shoves me out the front door. "Good!"
Slam!
Click!
"Did he really just lock me out?" I try the knob, and sure enough, the door is locked. "Damn British bastard," I mumble after giving the door a swift kick.
My anger fizzles slightly, and I trudge through the grass towards the tree at the edge of the drive. I kick a rock and send it flying, getting a small amount of satisfaction as it hits the sturdy oak. A ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, and I scan the ground for more ammo. A large stick catches my attention, and I pick it up. I glance from the stick in my hands to the tree a few feet away, and an idea forms in my head. Placing my feet in a baseball stance, I swing the stick as hard as I can at the tree.
The stick splinters, and the shards fly in every direction.
"Oh, well. I guess it wasn't meant to be," I sigh, looking around for another stick. I find one after a few minutes, and I take a swing with the new stick.
Once again, it splinters.
I repeat the process countless times, but every stick I pick up breaks. After a while, I notice someone standing on the porch watching me. When I turn to face them, I am greeted by the pink-haired Brit.
"What are you doing?" he calls. I shrug and start walking towards him.
"What does it look like I'm doing, bastard?" I retort.
"It looks like you're whacking nature with a branch, Allen. I want to know why you're doing it." He sighs tiredly.
"I don't know. It's just one of those days, I guess."
((Hi there! This is just a little something so that I meet the requirements to become a Beta. I actually felt like this today, lol! I spent a couple hours just beating on trees with random sticks. Well, that's all for this one! I bid you all, adieu!))