Desperate Times : TW Mix : Simple Twist Of Fate

by Ophelia Glace

I make an attempt to redeem the Desperate Times themes. Part 1 complete, moving on to part 2, there will be a brief intermission in which you may wish to strangle me, or yourself, depending on how badly you hated part 1.

7. The hero makes his lackadaisical entry

*Knock, knock, knock.*

"No."

*Knockknockknock*

He turned the stereo up, "No."

*Pathetic silence.*

            "Oh God damn it," he hauled himself to his feet, marched to the door, and yanked it open with exaggerated disgust.  "What?"

His brother shuffled bare feet, and hugged the bedding he was carrying, "I can hear 'em fighting from my room."

            'No,' he thought, 'I absolutely refuse to have sympathy.  I want to be alone.  I want to sleep.  I want not to be talked at all night.  It's his own damn fault he doesn't have a boom box.' But, of course, what he said was, "Put socks on, those stink-feet are not coming into my room."

            "You know," the elder grumbled watching his brother settle smugly on the floor, "you should have taken the damn radio."

"Aw, c'mon Mike, lay off.  It was the beginning of the school year, I-"

"No, I'm sorry Sam, there is no reason on Earth why you have to color coordinate your underwear."

            "Oh shut up."  Sam threw his pillow at his brother in mock-frustration, but it proved to be a self defeating move, as Michael proceeded to clobber him with the same pillow, and, while he was recovering, flick off the lights.  "Good night Sam." 

"Aw, c'mon, I can't find my blankets in the dark!"

"Good night, Sammy."

            He listened absently as his brother shuffled, grumbled, and sniffled his way into sleep, eventually, the cassette ended.  He stared at the ceiling, blinking in the dark, and listened to his brother's murmuring breath, his father's ranting, his mother's sobs.