Iniquitous #AtozChallenge

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Iniquitous – grossly unfair and morally wrong.

It’s always so unfair and wrong. He’s got more then me or she’s broken it. He’s annoying me then she bit me! He started, she started, he did it, she did it!

Always fighting, like they are punishing you for having them both. Would it have been different if they were both girls or both boys? Doubtful. Siblings always fight. You did so with your own.

‘It’s not fair!’ he cries, ‘I hate her!’

‘I hate you more!’ she screams back.

You roll your eyes and silently beg for peace. Just five minutes like Mrs Elephant wanted.

‘What happened?’ you ask thinking you can play judge, jury and court all in one.

They spill the story of how one was doing something wrong but the other was sure it was right and unfair it was for the interruption to happen. How this or that might be broke, why it’s not his or her fault. He should be punished, no, she should be punished.

It’s the same old story, repeat time after time. What’s the point in trying to keep putting the bridge out of fire if it finds a way to carry on burning down?

‘Leave each other alone,’ you rule, ‘you go back to whatever it was and you come do something with me.’

Tongues stick out, there are pouts and tears. She stamps are foot and crosses her arms and declares, ‘its not fair! you love him more then me.’

Not that cliche again!

You say, ‘that’s not true. Do you want to do some baking?’

Another war stopped, another battle half won. You just hope this is a phrase they are going through. How can they love each other one moment and hate each other so much the next? It’s a bafflement never to be solved but then that’s siblings for you.

(Inspired by; http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com)

Ice Skating

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All autumn my little sister had been begging me to take her ice skating. Winter arrived early and stayed late this far north but still we had to wait for the lake to freeze over deeply enough to be safe.

‘Can we go out to check today, Alex?’ she asked me as we ate porridge before the roaring kitchen fire.

‘It won’t have frozen enough yet, Beka,’ I replied, ‘it only snowed a little last night.’

‘Still I want to see!’ Beka cried.

I rolled my eyes and finished my porridge.

‘Take her out Alex,’ mother said from the huge table, ‘today, we are getting the  sweet puddings ready for the Winter Feast day. You two will only get under our feet.’

Both grandmothers, cook and maid agreed.

‘I want to help father hunting,’ I spoke.

‘He left all ready. Now, be a good son and look after your little sister.’

Grumpily, I got ready and the maid helped Beka with her fluffy elk boats, long red coat, gloves, scarf and matching red hat. We meet by the kitchen door, all ready to go out in the freezing morning.

‘You won’t need your ice skates, Beka,’ I said.

Beka pulled a face and shifted the white leather ice skates on her left shoulder, ‘it’s just in case.’

I shook my head, decided not to argue with her and opened the door. An icy wind blasted in and the fire began to gutter. Quickly, we went out and saw a thick frost and light dusting of snow on the ground. The sky above was a steel blue colour and the sun was a weak yellow in the sky.

We walked to the end of the garden, through the gate and around the edge of the woods. Gun shots echoed and a few birds flew up from the trees.

‘It’s father,’ Beka spoke.

I nodded and we walked on to the lake. Ice cold, clear water lapped at a frozen mud shore. A few ducks were swimming in the distant and the little wooden rowing boat was rocking against it’s wooden walk way.

‘See,’ I pointed out.

Beka sighed and looked downcast, ‘it’s no where near frozen!’

‘In a few more weeks it might be. Let’s go out in the boat instead. It might be the last time we can.’

She nodded, we climbed into the boat and I rowed us around the lake.

Lucky #FFfAW

‘I’ve lost my lucky grasshopper!’ my little brother wailed in my bedroom doorway.

I looked up from my rock music magazine, disgruntled by his appearance.

‘Please help me find him, Sis!’ he cried.

Taking back the ‘no’ that was the edge of my tongue, I got up with a sigh and helped him to look. He wouldn’t have left me alone other wise.

‘It’s meant to be crickets that are lucky. You know?’ I said.

‘Grandpa said anything could be lucky if you believed in it,’ he answered back.

Well then, I guess it was ‘lucky’ that we caught the grasshopper on the window sill an hour later.

 

(Inspired by; https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/11/27/fffaw-challenge-week-of-november-28-2017/ with thanks.)