Hello, my name is SpiderSilkTales! I used to write stories about Transformers, but I switched my interests. Please enjoy my story!
Chapter 1
Arthur was startled awake by the sound of crashing glass. He sat up straight as a nail and glanced in a circle around his bed. If he had to guess, he'd say that it was around three o'clock in the morning, judging from the level of darkness. He saw four identically blonde heads pop up around him.
On his direct left, Francis sighed. "It is just Papa, arriving home. Go back to sleep, mes tout-petits," he muttered, before flopping down onto the worn pillow, which lay on the queen-sized bed they shared. At eighteen, he was two years Arthur's superior, but was far less mature. His handsome features and long, luscious hair brought him many opportunities for a love life, and he was all for it.
Arthur sometimes felt a little helpless. He was Francis's opposite: their only similarity was their father and their hair color. Arthur's hair was often gelled into place, as a short bowl-ish cut. His emerald green eyes and bushy eyebrows set him apart from the rest of his brothers, whom had blue eyes. Girls never were easy for Arthur to talk to, especially with his bookish and tempered personality.
"Dada?" Peter curled himself deeper into the thin blankets on his mattress, which lay nearly underneath Arthur's bed frame. His chubby face and short stature gave away his youth: a boy not much older than three years. Short, fluffy blonde hair framed his face.
Arthur rubbed the boy's back from his spot on the bed and felt muscles loosen. "Don't make noises; wait 'till he calms down."
"Will he calm down tonight?"
"Will he really, honestly, Arthur?"
Two small voices chimed from the opposite corner of the tiny room. Both five year old boys had squeezed themselves together on a twin-sized mattress, also on the dusty floor. As twins, they looked nearly identical in the darkness, except for hair styles. The elder twin, Matthew (who had a strange purplish-blue eye color), had recently grown out his hair like Francis's in an effort to distinguish himself from his younger, louder twin. Needless to say, Matthew was very shy and soft-spoken. His twin could not be more of an opposite. Alfred was obsessed with superheroes and had endless energy. His eyes were sky blue and his sunshine blonde hair showed a cowlick that absolutely refused to stay put.
Arthur did not know how to answer that question, so he bluntly said, "Francis is correct, please get back to sleep." He heard grumbles, but the faint moonlight showed that they were cuddled back underneath their sleeping bag. Peter's breaths had long ago slowed and steadied, and the twins were quick to follow.
"Arthur?" Francis whispered beside him.
"Hmm?" Arthur already knew what Francis was going to say.
"You ready for this?"
Arthur hesitated. No, he thought, but it didn't come out right. "Yes."
Arthur faced his second rude awakening that day when their bedroom door slammed open. He quickly jumped out of bed and stood at its side, avoiding the eyes of their intruder.
"You runts better be spotless by the time we have to leave!"
Arthur slowly turned his head and looked at the man who shouted. It was their father. He was a very handsome man, but his personality was positively horrid. His blonde hair, hazel eyes, and tanned skin tended to leave a positive impression on anyone but his sons.
He turned to leave and was nearly out the door when a noise pierced the air.
A grumbling stomach.
Arthur didn't need the cry of pain to know that it was Alfred's stomach, and that their father had slugged him in the origin of the sound.
"Ungrateful rats. I fed you last night, didn't I?" Arthur was inclined to blurt out 'no!' but held his ground for the children's sakes. The man stalked out of the room and there was no sound for a few moments. Alfred broke it once again with a quiet sob. No one acknowledged it.
They simply began to make their beds and file into the small bathroom that sat adjacent to their room.
A short cycle started. Francis would shower first (in their shower/tub combo) while Arthur helped the younger boys set their outfits in piles. As Arthur showered, Francis and the young ones would brush teeth. Then all three kids would be bathed with the combined efforts of Arthur and Francis. Then hair would be combed and outfits pulled on.
As Arthur helped little Peter into his outfit, he began his daily ritual of "thinking". He thought of other teenagers with normal lives. He thought of someday learning to drive. He told himself that he did not think of girls. And he thought of his family.
Francis, as the firstborn, knew how to drive. His mother had been an absolutely gorgeous French woman. She taught Francis how to speak French before English, the latter of which he had refused to speak until he was around six years old. That woman had left.
Arthur's mother was a quiet British woman. She insisted that Arthur had her "superior" accent and that he acted smartly. She also left.
Alfred and Matthew's mother had never wanted children. She was a Canadian businesswoman who lived in the USA and resented the idea of raising four boys, especially since two were twins. She pushed them away and left. Arthur taught Alfred to speak (but the boy picked up his father's American accent) and Francis taught Matthew to speak primarily English (with a Canadian accent, from his mother), but also made sure that the little boy was fluent in French.
Peter's mother had been the sweetest woman any of them had ever met. She was also British, and allowed Arthur to teach Peter how to speak. She had just recently gone missing about five months ago. No one had heard of her since then.
They were boys from different mothers, but the same terrifying father. And their father was marrying again today.
That was why they were dressed so smartly: Francis and Arthur in black suits with blue ties, Alfred, Matthew, and Peter in crisp white collared shirts, black shorts, and suspenders.
Francis finished tying Peter's shoelaces just as a horn honked outside. They hurried down the stairs and through the front door. After piling into their old five-person minivan (Francis in shotgun seat with Peter in his lap, Arthur in the center seat in back, and the twins surrounding him) the car pulled off.
The ceremony was a drag. The bride looked beautiful, but the look in her eyes said that all she wanted was the money. Arthur almost laughed. They had no money, that's why their father was doing this.
During the party, Francis made his way to Arthur's side.
They mingled for a few moments, watching their brothers. Matthew and Alfred were attacking the food table, Peter standing nearby. The elder boys appeared casual, but their eyes darted back and forth, alert. After a minute or two, they looked at each other.
"Now?" Arthur whispered.
"Now." Francis said unhesitatingly.
Francis scooped up Matthew and Alfred from the floor and dragged them to the door. They did not fight. Arthur threw Peter on his back and ran behind. They made their way through the winding hallways of the church and burst through the front doors.
Arthur breathed in the fresh air. Their father was screaming somewhere behind them, but Arthur paid no attention. He found himself smiling.
Francis pulled out the car keys he had stolen from the men's dressing room. He unlocked the minivan quickly. They piled in and Francis pulled away from the parking lot.
Arthur stole a glance in his rearview mirror. A crowd of people barricaded out of the doors to the church. Their father met his eyes and glared. Arthur allowed himself a moment of childishness and stuck out his tongue at the reflection.
They rounded a corner and could no longer see the tip of the church's bell tower.
Alfred and Matthew slowly pulled out masses of food from the ceremony while Peter revealed about eight plastic water bottles. Arthur reached into the middle compartment of the van and pulled out a Tupperware box, which already held about two dozen granola bars from their pantry.
Arthur put away the supplies. Francis sighed, "Well, mes garçons, we did it."
"Yes," Arthur smiled. "We did."