::ONESHOT:: 12-year-old Gerard wants his little brother to make him a sandwich. But Mikey's not his brother's bitch... R&R?
Now I feel epic after reading that back. :3
I throw myself down on the couch opposite from the one my brother is sitting on, a huge sandwich in my hand, my mouth watering slightly at the sight of it as I haven't eaten all day. I open my mouth as wide as it would go and take the most enormous bite I think I've ever taken of anything ever. My teeth fight to bite through the chewy crust, and I chomp loudly, a stupid smile on my face.
My brother Gerard, who turned twelve a few days ago and has been glued to the xbox ever since, shoots a fleeting glance over his shoulder at me and his eyes widen before he returns his attention to his game, to prevent his character being killed. 'What's on that?' he asks.
'Marmite and cheese,' I reply through my huge mouthful. Gerard loves Marmite and cheese just as much as I do; we first tasted it three years ago whilst camping with the cub scouts, and we have been addicted ever since.
He gasps. 'You should totally go make me one.'
Gerard hasn't eaten today either: we'd both woken up late after staying up til around midnight last night and Mum was out, so she hadn't made us breakfast. Most normal children would make their own breakfast in this situation, but Gerard and I are way too lazy and besides, it's Sunday morning. Why would I want to get off my ass on a Sunday to make my lazy-ass brother a sandwich? You're right. I wouldn't. So I'm not gunna. 'Get one yourself, you lazy arse.' I say, swallowing my mouthful and preparing to take another.
'Please Mikey?' he whines.
'Mikey- Ah shit!' His character on his game died a rather grisly death, creating a window of opportunity for him to turn around and consult me. 'Mikey, please. It's not like you're doing anything, and anyway, remember how Mum said you've to be more helpful?'
'I'm not your bitch, Gerard. Get off your fat arse and get one yourself. And anyway, why would I be helpful to you?'
Gerard's game restarted and he returned his attention to the screen. 'Pleeeeeeeeeease Mikey?' I'm not going to make him a sandwich, because he'll never repay the favour, no matter how many times he'll promise that he will. I know he won't: it's what big brothers do.
'No, Gerard. Piss off.'
'Mikey. Just make me a sandwich, bitch.' Without looking away from his game, he gropes around the sofa next to him and grasps the first thing his fingers get a hold of. Gripping the leather glove that belongs to my father, he throws it across the room at me, and it hits me quite hard in the face.
'Ow, Gerard! That hit me!' Sitting up from my slouch, I toss the glove aside and reach for the TV remote which is sitting on the arm of the sofa next to me, minding its own business. It soon finds itself hurtling across the room and colliding with the back of my big brother's head.
'Ow! Mikey that fucking hurt you little shit!' he yelps, scowling at me.
'Well you hit me with the glove.'
'Yeah but the remote was much harder!' With the last word, he threw the remote back at me, and it smacks me in the shin hard.
'Gerard! Stop it, you arsehole!' I throw it back, and even though it doesn't hit him, Gerard dives across the room, tackling me roughly. 'OW!' I yell.
I lash out at him with my two bare feet, kicking him in the ribs. He lunges forward, knocking my sandwich from my hand, and I watch in dispair as it falls in slow motion to the floor.
'Gerard, you bitch! My sandwich!'
'Look what you did, you retard,' he hisses at me as we both stare at the mess of sandwich lying on the carpet.
'That was YOU, you arsehole!' I howl at him, and get stuck in with my fists. He fights back, grabbing a fistful of my sandy brown hair and yanking my head backwards. I lose my balance and as we tumble from the couch, I grab a handful of his long black hair, yanking way harder than he was.
Gerard shrieks loudly and rather like a girl in my ear, and I laugh breathily, pulling harder. I see tears welling in his eyes and I mock him. 'Ha ha, you're crying. Big baby.'
Scowling furiously, he punches me hard in the ribs, shouting, 'That's cos you nearly pulled my hair from my fucking scalp, you basket-case! And only girls pull hair!' So that's why you were pulling my hair a few seconds ago, Gerard? Swinging my legs round, I start kicking his head, but he just slams his skull down on my toes, making me scream.
'Get off me, you fucking dickwad!' (A/N: courtesy of my 8 year old cousin Sam) I yell at him, but he doesn't let go.
'Just make me a fucking sandwich, Michael,' he growls.
'No! I'm not your slave!'
'I'm the oldest, so I'm in charge and Mum says you have to do what I say when she's gone,' says Gerard matter-of-factly.
'I don't care! Mum's not here, and I'm not doing anything for you! Get off your fat arse and get your own fucking sandwich!' I yell at him. Who is he to push me around, the fucking Queen? Highly unlikely. Well, my brother is a wrinkly old lady, but-
'MIKEY! YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING ARSEHOLE!' he bellows, pushing me onto my back and grabbing my throat. He's not choking me very much, but he could if he really tried.
'Bugger off, dickface,' I yell. You may think it's disgusting that I know all these bad words at my young age, but truth be told, Gerard actually taught me most of them. Fucking arse that he is.
'I hate you.'
He squeezes tighter, and I grab his throat, scratching his skin more than strangling him. He releases my throat and grasps my shoulders, throwing my skinny figure across the room like a ragdoll. I recover myself quickly and launch myself across the room at him, and we topple over, a ball of flailing arms and legs, swear words and shrieks. We punch and kick lumps out of each other until I start to cry.
I shove Gerard off me, and he kicks me away from him. Getting up, he stomps away from me and throws himself down on the couch, facing away from me. 'Dickface.'
I curl up on the floor as far away from him as possible, a little ball of bare, skinny limbs and pale blue pyjamas, trying to wipe my tears away but they keep falling. There are no words that discribe the hatred I feel towards my brother right now. Just because he's older than me, he thinks he can shove me around and tell me what to do.
I'm not his bitch.
We lie in tense silence, our hate for each other radiating from our bodies and heating the air around us. I can't wait until I'm eighteen. Then I can move out and- Wait, I can't wait until Gerard is eighteen. Then he'll move out, and I'll never have to talk to him again-
I hear Gerard's voice from across the room, but I'm not gonna talk to him. 'Shut up.'
'Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, Mike-'
'I still want a sandwich.'
I shriek and launch myself across the room at him again.
There you are. Did you enjoy it? I hope you did: this is a rewrite of the one I wrote originally, which was better. I just thought it would be funny to have the two Way brothers fighting like all siblings do. I'm sure that if you have siblings, you've spent your entire childhood fighting with them. I know I've spent mine fighting with my two brothers, and I know that my cousins are probably fighting at this very moment.
I hope you enjoyed that, and it would make my day if you could R&R...? Thank'ee :D