Rapture

011411

  Unable to ignore the ruckus emanating from the room down the hall any longer, Rapture stands up from her desk, assuring her friends on facebook that she will be right back, and goes to find the source of the disturbance. Well – the source can only be one thing – her brothers, of course, but the cause is a different story. She walks in to find them gathered around cross legged in front of the television set in the living room, each with a familiar controller in their hand, a heated match of Goldeneye causing them to whoop and cheer and taunt and rage.

  “When did you guys get the ‘64 out of the attic?” Rapture asks, suddenly interested. Reclaimed youth is thick on the air and she wants in. Thinking back to when she used to watch the exact scene when she still wore pink Hello Kitty pyjamas makes her feel old beyond her years, uncomfortably so. Back then her brothers weren’t out at work so much back then, they had more time for games and, well, her.

  “Guys?” she asks again, having elicited no response with her original question. Still nothing. They’re all involved in the lives of their characters, everything hinging on their virtual lives. "

  “Mortality’s gotta blow,” Death says as he watches his portion of the splitscreen fade to black.

  “Right?” Famine agrees, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he try’s to assassinate his older brother; unsuccessfully.

  “You mess with the best you bleed like the rest,” Pestilence says as he swiftly puts an end to the attempt on his life.

  “Can I play,” Rapture tries again, climbing over the back of the sofa and squeezing between the two of them.

  “Bug off, sis,” Famine says, annoyed, and pushes her away into Pestilence.

  “Come on man, you’re throwing off my game,” he snaps back, pushing her back.

  “You guys are jerks,” Rapture says, squirming out of their two warring shoves and stands up in front of the set. Everyone but War moans.

  “Oh can it you guys, Rapture can play too. God knows it must suck to have to stay here all day and wait.”

  “But it’s not our fault every time she leaves the house the world tries to end,” Famine says as War hands his red controller to an ecstatic Rapture.

  “Oh, and it’s mine?” She asks defensively.

  “Kick his butt, lil’ sis’” War says, standing up and heading over to the door, “I better get going anyway.”

  “Where to, bro?” Death asks, not paying particular attention to anything but the newfound carnage on screen, courtesy of a vengeful Rapture, “Iraq?”

  “Afghan civil, actually,” War replies, slipping his coat on and grabbing his keys from the wall.

  “Shoot,” Death says, having been gunned down once again, “Can I bum a ride? I should probably do some work too.”

  “No problem.”

  “But I just got here,” Rapture whines, annoyed her two older, friendlier brothers are leaving already.

  “We’ll bring you back something cool, promise” War says, ruffling his sister’s hair as he walks past on his way to the door. She bats him away and tries to pat her messy hair back into place.

  “You’re all jerks,” Rapture says, finishing the game at the top of the scoreboard and storming down the hall back to her room, “you hear me-” she calls back loudly, “JERKS!”

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~ by Joseph Blame on January 14, 2011.

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