Fiction: Group 4
Purified water is another reason for rationing water. Not that the water is polluted, we were told, it
is just to ensure our safety against maggots and monsters that apparently lurk the waters.
Al and I take the soundlessly ascending lift together. Our building, despite its monstrous look, is
strewn with little trinkets and gadgets so advanced you’d mistaken us as multi-millionaires if you hadn’t
noticed our mud-caked nails first.
The lift itself has a full-body glass plane, allowing us a glimpse of the brilliant burgundy sky.
“Do you remember that song gran would sing to us all the time?”
“Oh, that good old song, eh?”
I stare at him.
“Did you just use the word “eh”?”
He ignores me, and starts singing his tuneless tune.
“
Robins, please sing me a song.
”, he swivels to looks at me.
“Then?”
He turns around. “I don’t want to sing that song.”
I stare at him even harder.
“Do come in, sweets!” The door flies open even before we could press down on the buzzer. Clearly,
dad’s been anxiously waiting for our return.
Out of the very corner of my eyes, I catch a glimpse of my mother, sitting as stiffly as ever and my
baby brother dishing out whatever it is we are having gleefully.
“We were just about to have a
little
talk! Why don’t you join us, dears?”
I am starting to grow suspicious. On how he stresses on the word “little”. On how our family just
doesn’t do little talks.
Argh. This is hideous.
At the dining table, mom sits, sullen, with her eyes staring straight ahead and Kevin sips tea, gloating
(and no doubt enjoying the scene).
“I know what you are about to tell us.” Al says loudly.
Well
I
don’t.
As mom speaks on, Kevin’s elbow slides purposefully across the table, making a very ridiculous
squelchy noise. All of a sudden I am using all my willpower to keep myself from laughing.
“Kevin!” I mouth at my baby brother, wriggling my brows to show him how serious I am.
He giggles menacingly.
“—tan? Are you there?” Mom suddenly asks.
“Um, yeah, sure.”
“You made me miss a whole conversation!” I again, glare furiously at Kevin while silently screaming
the words out.
“Kevin! Stop making that ridiculous noise!”
Ha.
“You heard what I say. Quit it. You are both just children.”
It was as if something clicked, the way my brain automatically stops rambling on crazily. It must have
been something serious, to have even
my
brain to focus.
I look at my ashen-faced brother. Al, of all people. Al, who always puts on a brave face, looks like
he’s about to be swallowing fish (a whole raw one with all the fish-slime and fish-goo on it)
I want to say stupidly, did I miss something?
I reach for the teapot and my cup. It’s empty. Kevin must have drunk it all.
Water rations are diminishing. I knew it.
My head pounds as I try to recall and digest every single little detail I had managed to question out of
my baby brother.
“Man,” he kept saying, making that little hand gesture like he was genuinely helpless. But I know
better.
Nobody, absolutely nobody drinks my tea and gets away with it.
