You drive home, not thinking about anything. The streets are empty. It is the middle of the night, after all. Every red light that stops you serves as a cruel reminder of how you fucked up. But you have to stay calm. Don't think right now. You can hold it all in like you always do. Just get home, lie down, go to sleep, and wake up tomorrow. You just have to get through this moment and you'll be fine.
You open the door. The house is dark, quiet. You know what's going to happen, though you wish you were wrong. You're really not in the mood.
A shuriken flies towards you from the darkness and hits the wall behind you a few inches next to your head. One of your bro's insufferable strifes.
"Bro, not today. I am not in the mood."
"The world doesn't stop when you don't feel like it, Dave," came bro's disembodied voice from somewhere in the house.
"Goddammit I'm serious. Not right-" You get cut off by a sword slash coming horizontally at your head. By now, your responses have become instant and automatic when it comes to your bro's attacks, and you dodge out of the way almost effortlessly.
"Bro!"
A sword lands at your feet, clearly meant for you. You kick it aside.
"I said I'm not in the mood!"
Unfortunately, your bro can be very insistent. He comes at you again, this time dropping from the ceiling with a vertical slice. You step to the side effortlessly once more.
The place is dark, but numerous strifes have made you cognizant of every inch of the space, even in near total darkness. Only one thing was different this time. Your foot lands on the sword you kicked away and you fall over.
"Fucking ow!" You yell, more out of frustration than any physical pain.
Faster than you can get up, he's over you, sword plunged into the ground next to your face, foot on your chest holding you down.
"What's the matter little dude?"
"I don't wanna talk about it." You really don't.
"You have two options, Dave." You can just barely make out his hand, holding up his index finger.
"One: you pick up this sword and fight me."
He adds his middle finger. "Two: you tell me what's wrong."
"I don't want either of those options. I just want to go to sleep."
Bro stands silently and after a moment seems to lift weight off his foot ever so slightly. You almost expect that just this once he'll let you go.
"Then let me give you some incentive." He grabs your glasses and absconds into the darkness.
"Oh, you piece of shit! Gimme back the shades!"
"Come get them."
OK, fine. The bait has been cast, adorned with a cute little trinket that swishes fetchingly in the stream. How could anyone expect you to keep your gluttonous mitts off that shit? They couldn't. You're gonna grab that fucker and chow down; it is the food and wine to your Ciacco.
You stand up and put your hand on the hilt of the sword. Too heavy, clumsy, not suited to your tastes. You'd look like an arthritic baby trying to accomplish anything with that. Besides, your bro's shitty swords were never quite shitty enough for you. Instead, you jab it deeper into the floor, making sure any security deposits on the house are never coming back, hold onto the handle, and deliver a swift kick to the side of it. The sword breaks in half, cementing it's status as useless infomercial fodder.
Eat your heart out, Arthur. Didn't need to pull anything out of any fucking rock. Shoulda just snapped it in half.
Perhaps you'd be disqualified from becoming a king, or a prince even. But maybe they'd all sigh and give you at least some sort of consolation prize. The title of Knight, possibly. But first order of business: get your shades back.
You tread cautiously. Your bro is somewhere in the dark, so running around haphazardly is the worst possible option. You need to be quiet, listen for any errant noises, and assume that they're all traps. Your bro is a fucking ninja and would never be beat because of something as pedestrian as an accidental noise.
Something falls in the kitchen, an obvious red herring, but who can keep from paying attention to anything that isn't just abject silence. If anything, you now know that he's definitely NOT there. A sick game of Marco Polo where the person you're looking for could be anywhere but the source of the voice. Possibly even right behind you.
You turn and swing your broken sword behind you. You step on something soft that lets out a squeak as your foot comes down on it. One of your bros ironic smuppets. Another response to your Marco call. Of course he's not there. But he was. He's always right there, always right out of your grasp. You are Tantalus and your thirst is, as always, unquenchable.
A hand is on your shoulder. You grab it and chuck whatever it is across the room. For a split second, you see the eternally smiling face of your bros favorite lil' shit, Cal. It is overtaken by the darkness, but you never hear it hit anything or land. He's ridiculously fast. You know you can't win. You never do. These strifes are as Sisyphean as they are taxing on your mental state.
"Just come out and fight me so we can get this over with!" There's no reason to be stealthy when he obviously knows where you are at all times. It's time to pull the plug on this charade.
You see the glint of a rouge ray of light on his sword and prepare yours to block his strike. A sharp clang echoes in the house and for a moment the two of you are face to face. Your glasses are on his face on top of his own ridiculous anime shades. You reach for them and he leans backwards, coming back around with another strike. You block this one, too, and make another attempt for the glasses. He dodges back again and kicks your feet out from under you. You fall to the floor once more and bro disappears from your view.
"Give me back my fucking shades, you ass!" you yell from the floor. You are so fucking sick of this shit right now.
"What, did I make you angry? Distract you from whatever was on your mind?" His voice is alarmingly close by.
"How am I supposed to focus on anything when you're coming at me with a sword in the pitch black!"
"Good, good."
The lights turn on and you are blinded for a while. When you can see again, bro is sitting next to you, holding your glasses towards you.
You take deep breaths like the pregnancy support groups always tell you. Calm yourself again. Don't need any fucking ulcers.
You grab the shades and put them back on.
He ruffles your hair slightly. "Feel better, little bro. Get some rest."
He gets up and goes wherever it is he goes. You never really know where he is at any given point. Weird ass elusive guy always knows what's up and how to help. You stay on the floor, thankful for the few minutes of relative peace of mind you had. The siren song of your bed calls to you, beckoning you to validate its existence. You are more than happy to oblige. You are so tired. Going to school tomorrow oughta be a fucking blast.
