Your eyes snap open as you lay crumpled in a pile of broken body but alive spirit, the mixed juices of souring milk and your gigantic sister Carly’s potent saliva dribbling off your naked body. You roll to the side, managing to end up on your back, letting the remaining coolness of the cereal milk help soothe your back. You may have broken something, you’re not sure. More than likely, you twisted something at the very least. Gooey, crumb-laden saliva and stinging milk have flooded every orifice of your body, even into your eyes, so seeing clearly at this moment is difficult.
You might not have been alive at this moment. You probably shouldn’t be alive. From the seeming ultimatum you just had with your totalitarian little sister, by all accounts you shouldn’t be sitting crumpled on the kitchen table. You should be being yanked down to the back of Carly’s slimy throat, through a wall of bubbled saliva, and into the pulsating esophagus, where you would soon be dragged down by muscle and tissue to an acidic death in the stomach of your sibling.
If you weren’t in so much pain from the hard fall you just took onto the kitchen table, you would be laughing at this. The sheer, hilarious irony. You totally just dared your younger sister, albeit in not so few words, to swallow you whole because she was too scared to. And honestly, it was purely out of your own attempts to retain your basic humanity by refusing to lower yourself to the point that you are forced to beg to not be eaten alive by another human being. The thought itself is so terrifying and sick you can’t even fathom having to go through with it. But she didn’t do it; your own insane stupidity to retain your human condition stopped her in her tracks.
What makes all this so funny is that you honestly couldn’t have given a bigger shit at that point whether or not Carly made breakfast out of her brother. Hell, subconsciously perhaps, you might have felt that it was more likely, in fact, given how deeply into madness your little sister had descended, that she would drop you inside her mouth and add you to whatever rotting foods she had sitting in the pits of her stomach. Being so focused on remaining defiant to the end coupled with the fact that you didn’t want to take chances with yourself for going back on the plan in a moment of weakness, you had resolved to push the idea of your impending doom out of mind long enough to put on a good show for your sister, who was indeed completely shocked at your seeming lack of care for your life.
You want your life. You really want your life. More than almost anything in the world, you want this whole nightmare to end and go back to what you had before. This entire living, breathing, playing out of your worst dreams, multiplied by a thousand. Your constant battling with your little, sadistic sister has culminated in this, the ultimate victory and vengeance for Carly. She has you so completely in her power, you may not be alive in the next few minutes. You really can’t tell.
You would give anything to be capable of just barely jamming your nose between your sister’s toes like last week, as opposed to now, when your sister’s mammoth toes of raw power could grab you up between the crevices of toe cleavage and lift you into the air, as if you were a feather. Last week, you were so disgusted with the reality of the situation of your sister’s cruel sense of blackmail, you just wanted it to end. Now, you’d give just about anything to reverse time and go back to that moment and just undo all of this insanity.
Of course, you feel you have to remind yourself, you’ve decided that your life is secondary to your humanity. This much you deeply want to believe, as you tried to put it into practice just now by defying your sister’s threat to eat you. But even now, you feel the familiar fear rushing back in. Now, you just have to keep moving and pray that you can regain yourself in time to go out with a little dignity if the situation calls for it. Don’t be afraid, you have to tell yourself mentally. Having nothing else to do with yourself but lie in the pile of cereal and spittle right now, too tired, weak, and pained to attempt movement (not that it would be useful, with your sister’s monstrous fingers being close enough to grab you before you took three steps), you begin to repeat this to yourself. Lose the fear, you think. Lose the fear. Lose it.
You bat your eyes a few times to loosen the thick solvent of spit and milk settling in a layer over your eyes so you can see. Your eyes watering from the lack of oxygen you endured only two minutes ago when you were nearly suffocated in Carly’s tongue, you squint a little, and through your rippled, water-logged vision, you see the massive form of your sister, sitting perfectly and leaning over you.
As the milk, spit, and water dribble out of your eyes, you begin to see clearly again. Carly’s face is locked into an expression of stoicism. Her head rests on her massive hands, which are clasped at the top of her propped up forearms, as she stares down at you, directly above your face. It reminds you deeply of only last night, when she had just kicked the living hell out of you using just the toes of one foot in order to teach you a lesson about being physically cruel to people. The pain is pretty similar to that, too. You won’t be forgetting that beating for a while.
An air of silence fills the void, Carly’s frozen face refusing to budge with a comment, you being far too tired and opposed to the idea of further infuriating your sister. Far off in the distance somewhere, you hear a car honking. A bird squawking. The outside world almost beckons, and you tilt your head to the side, looking over the top of the glass cereal bowl that very nearly brought you to your death and look at the clear blue sky of mid-morning. It’s calling you, reminding you that there’s still life out there.
Then your head tilts back to face forward, straight up, and looking back into the calm, foreboding, and youthful face of your fourteen year old psychotic sister, you are reminded of how much of a bubble this house has become. This gargantuan place has become your prison. You’re trapped in a pit with a lion, and you don’t have a single thing to defend yourself with.
And finally, the silence that was last broken by your sister’s surprised shouts at you for refusing to submit to her in total ownership of you is broken again. No longer in the blind rage she was in a few minutes ago now, Carly’s voice has lowered to a deeper murmur, low and slow enough for you to be able to hang on every word.
“You’re amazing, little bro. Amazing. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with your stupid little self,” she says, shrugging.
You don’t bother answering. When she gets like this (which is often), you’re starting to learn that butting in is not in your best interests.
“I mean, all you had to do. ALL you had to do was say that little sentence to me. I don’t think it’s so hard. All I wanted you to say was “I belong to you.” That’s it. Four words. If you had said those four words to me, I’d be on the phone with… mom, dad, the doctor, whoever. But you’re just too stupid. You’re SO stupid, that you just couldn’t do it. And so now, you’ve brought this on yourself. That pain you feel right now?” she continues, her head blocking off the source of overhead lamp light above you. “That pain is what you’ve done to yourself, for everything. Because you’re so dumb, and you’re such a huge jerk to me all the time. So far, all I’ve tried to do is help you. I’ve tried to teach you lessons about everything that’s wrong with you so you can fix it. And what do you do? You go lying to me like you’ve changed. But you haven’t. Not a bit…” she says, licking milky residue off her lips.
“NOTHING I’ve done to you since yesterday has made any difference in you. You’re still just a big fat meanie. So I think that we’re going to have to start over again…”
Your spine tingles, ice rushing down it to and into your midsection.
“ALL over again. From scratch. Because you haven’t learned anything. But I’m not going to do it all again to you…” she says, and as she does, she lowers a hand toward your helpless, beaten form. Extending just her pointer finger out, she lowers it toward your aching body and lays it on your stomach, slowly sliding along your chest and stomach in a massage of sorts. She lowers her head so close that mostly all you see is her mouth. She opens it, allowing a wave of hot air to release like an oven. “…I’m going to do something SO much worse to you, you stupid little boy, that when I’m done with you, you’re going to be on your puny little KNEES, BEGGING me to own you and your stupid little body.” With this final word, her mouth curves into the familiar smile and the massage continues, her cool, soft fingertip gliding effortlessly across your reddened upper torso. All you can hear in the renewed silence is the graceful murmuring sound as her smooth finger lithely strokes your sore midsection.
“Do you hurt right now, little bro?”
You don’t answer. You’re far too tired and bewildered by what she just said, attempting to process it in your mind. She plans to do something worse to you than what you went through last night and just this morning. She just vowed to top the lessons she used on you into something far worse.
You’re not even sure you could begin to formulate an idea of what she could possibly mean. You literally are incapable of picturing what she could do to you to make her lessons stick better.
“Do you?” she repeats in your silence.
“Unnghh…” you manage to peep out.
“That’s not an answer…” she contends, continuing the rhythmic sweep across your chest and abs. You gulp hard, clearing your thickened throat of the massive amount of her saliva that leaked in accidentally as she dragged you violently across the massive pink organ inside her mouth.
“Y-Y-Yes…” you peep out.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Unghh…” you groan, not really as a response, more just out of necessity.
“So… does my finger feel good on you?” she whispers even more softly than before.
“Why do you have to be so hard to talk to, Jack? I asked you a question. Does my finger feel good on your sore little body?”
“Yea…” you groan, gritting your teeth.
She chuckles in a lower register than normal at her whispering volume. “Good. Just relax, then. Let me help your teeny body out a little…” she coos. “…because you’ve got lessons to learn. And you’re no good to me if you can’t move at all.”
Your end of the conversation is up. All you can do is lay here in the now-stale puddle of milk and drying slobber that has glued your back to the table, as your little sister’s long, cool finger strokes your upper body gently in an attempt to help you regain your strength so she can, ironically, beat it into the ground once again with what will no doubt be a fervor greater than anything you’ve experienced this morning or last night. Despite the soothing relief the soft finger flesh is providing you at the current moment, you can’t help but let your heart rate fluctuate in stupefied anticipation of whatever your depraved little sister has in store for you, realizing with no misunderstanding that this cool digit of soothing flesh will soon be used in an attempt to subjugate you into a subhuman creature for Carly to own as a mindless pet.