Cry Havoc

Chapter 5
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Chapter Description: from Book One: Domination

tuesday 19 september - 4:00 PM

Impulse entered his mother’s house, dropped his backpack upon the hardwood floor, and motioned to it for the benefit of his single parent, who had glanced up from reading on the couch to the cacophony of her eldest son’s jangling accessories.

“Pick that up,” Impulse directed.

The fact that Impulse’s father had left his family in the lurch immediately after the birth of a boy and a girl 14 years prior might have been to blame for the teenager’s insolent attitude. After all, Impulse reasoned every now and again, the financial strain placed upon the Delvecchios by the arrival of his twin siblings was likely the driving force behind his paternal abandonment.

As such, Impulse resented Martin and Elizabeth more than anybody else in the world. Bright-eyed and well-meaning, the teenaged twins were still not quite cosmopolitan enough to fully comprehend why their lone older brother, day in and day out, treated them like piles of so much sentient rubbish.

Impulse endeavored to prey on his siblings’ pubescent insecurities. “Toddlerdick” was the nom de plume with which Impulse had christened Martin, and the wannabe streetpunk took immense pleasure in thrusting open the shower curtains during his little brother’s morning ablutions, then pointing and laughing at the relatively respectable three-and-a-half inches of organ dangling between the boy’s legs. Routinely, Impulse tormented Martin with verbal insinuations that a toddler’s dick like his belonged wrapped up in diapers; for his 14th birthday, in fact, Martin received a pack of size-6 Pampers from his guffawing brother, and the previously-celebratory young man turned a humiliating shade of crimson in front of all his closest friends.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, Impulse referred to as--

“Lizzie McNo-titties!” the boy hollered at his little sister as he made his way to his bedroom. A loud peal of laughter ricocheted off the walls of the hallway, and it certainly hadn’t originated from the girl. “How’re things shakin’ lately? Or aren’t they, like usual?”

Elizabeth ignored him. She had gotten used to her station-- the teasing, the torment, the self-consciousness that had come to pervade every aspect of her private life and public persona, however minute. Were her breasts really as diminutive as Troy had led her to believe? None of her friends had told her anything one way or the other. So, she marched through life, withdrawn and ever-wondering. Seeking little more, ultimately, than to exact a long-for-clamored vengeance upon her unmitigated douchebag of a brother. But, as a girl perpetually handicapped by the unflinching sobriety of realism, Elizabeth had long ago resigned herself to the conclusion that such an epiphany would never come.

Recon took a similar, outwardly antagonistic, tack towards his lone sibling: a 10-year-old stepbrother named Mikey who, paradoxically, sought honor in remaining silent. However, since the little boy lacked any and all trappings of young adulthood, Recon had to be more exacting with his torture; remarks about arrested development, no matter how accurate, would have fallen on deaf ears.

Instead, Recon went for the cheap, sometimes immeasurably evil, shots. Mikey heard from Recon that Santa Claus was a fictitious tenement of childhood lore as soon as he joined the family at age six. Frequent was the morning that the fifth-grader would find his diligently-completed mathematics homework stripped from his backpack by his scheming brother, just as he had intended on handing it in, and the detentions came fast and furious. When Recon was feeling just a bit more charitable, he would swipe cookies and cakes from the refrigerator, sprinkle cayenne pepper along their surfaces, and hand the former delectables, smiling, to Mikey, singing the praises of the spectacular taste bore by the “cinnamon” desserts.

Recon returned from the gym on Tuesday afternoon and couldn’t resist the temptation to inflict still another prank on his unsuspecting stepbrother. Just before he began his post-workout shower, Recon stripped himself of his sweaty, dripping attire-- then treated Mikey’s clothing dresser as his own personal hamper, cramming the sickeningly malodorous fabrics deep inside the stacked piles of Mikey’s freshly-scented clothes. Recon realized that he’d have to wait nearly 15 hours to witness the payoff from his deed, but he considered himself a relatively patient teenager. Not to mention one with a gland problem.

Loudmouth, on the other hand, made a habit of operating on a more restrictive timetable. That very afternoon, he had brought home from the gym a sultry, naively fast-moving vixen of his very own… and he had no intention of wining and dining her before the action scene.

to be continued