Sisyphean

Sisyphean

Prologue:

A glittering red oven, next to its bright red companions in the squashed but cozy kitchen, held two pans and a pot of nearly boiling water on top of it. The Sitter was busying herself around the kitchen, stirring this and flipping that. Normally, the mother of the house would be in her place, stirring this and flipping that, but she was recently killed during a hit-and-run and has had the strangest urge to bungee jump ever since. She was currently mounting the railing of a bridge 117 ft above a shallow river with a cord wrapped loosely around her waist.

The boy of this household clamored down the stairs in search of breakfast, a row of seven plastic ducks trailing behind him. At the head of his duck train was a beautiful swan, whose beauty was enhanced greatly by all of the small imperfections of the ducks behind it.

When the boy’s brother saw him still trailing that thing behind him, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Pipsqueak, it’s been four months- why are you still carrying that raggedy toy around? The story it’s based off of doesn’t even make any sense- have you read it? Not even Michael Rat could sell that load of shit.” The teen pushed his glasses up his nose, as if this action further proved his point and ended the discussion.

“David, hush! You know how sensitive your brother’s been since the incident.”

“You mean him being thrown-“

“Personally, I think he’s adjusting quite well to the change for such a young boy. He learned how to walk-“

“Again in half the time it takes normal people- yes, I know.” He eyed his brother suspiciously, as if he understood exactly why this was not something to be proud of, but still couldn’t help showing off in the moment. “If the little genius doesn’t watch it, he’s going to be chucked again.”

“David!” The Sitter rushed over to cover the boy’s ears. “You know it upsets him when you talk like that!” She waited but the expected waterworks didn’t come.

“It bothered the old him. Little Brother 4.0 isn’t bothered a bit by this; are you?”

The little boy shook his head on cue.

The Sitter sighed. “I wish you’d call him by his name.”

“When he becomes my brother again I will.”

“Don’t listen to him; he’s just upset because his little teenage hormones are out of whack. Now, who wants breakfast?”

The little boy raised his hand and followed the woman eagerly as she led him to the food.