The Sloom

Every good story needs exposition

     Bens arms weren't strong enough to lift the gallon of milk his older brother was using. He lied his head down in his arms not daring to meet the scrutinizing inspection from his brother. He heard the ceramic bowl clink down onto the wooden table and he sensed his mothers usual chair being taken up by his sibling. He was in charge of the house now that she was gone. His brother took a deep breath," what's going on, Benny." Ben revealed his eyes to glare at his guardian. After holding his head up for a prolonged period of time, he allowed his head to droop into its prior position. His brother scoffed.
     He scooted the bowl of fruit loops toward Ben and repeatedly collided it into his arm, "you have to eat Ben. Can't just have Doritos for breakfast, can ya?"
     Ben wasn't going to subject himself to this juvenile display of concern. His legs trembled as he stood from the bench. He slipped around the table ignoring his brothers hopeless pleas. Clambering up the creaky stairs he intercepted his little sister, greeting him with a sunny smile. Her gleeful face shrunk when he ducked his head to avoid catching her gaze.
     Why should they care?, he thought scathingly.
     He gently opened the door. The room was not what you would expect out of a child prodigy. It was small and dusty with cheap carpeting and the wallpapers molding was chipped and white with brown spots underneath revealed. Right beside his window beside his window, across from his bed, stood a shelf of books and movies ranging from the Dictionary to penguin paraphernalia and and documentaries. The walls were littered with photographs of penguins and sketches of random items and people. A cork board hung above his bed. Tacked onto it: a yearbook photo of Janus Peleus, Bens one and only best-friend, a sketch his mother had illustrated if Ben as a toddler mock reading an Algebra textbook, gripping onto it with his meaty hands, and a signed poster of his moms band, Windshield of Hourglass Stew. It was a peculiar name.
      His mom was tall for a woman. Her other band mates were at least an inch shorter than her. Tattoo sleeves covered her arms and you could get a peek at the inkings across the collar bones. The dark brown locks atop her cranium were cut short in an undercut. Stretchers adorned her ears and a small piercing could be seen on her nose. Her arms were toned from years of boxing lessons. His mothers explanation had been along the lines of: if I'm going to be an upcoming star might as well have some security. Which was most likely true, but Ben felt it was just to confuse the crowd about her gender. She liked being able to constantly dodge questions from interviewers. She liked being in control.
    He locked his door. His brother had given up a while ago, but Ben suspected that if he was given the chance he would take it. Padding toward his full body mirror, he stared at himself. He was so frail, it appeared as if a gust of wind could knock him over. His black hair covered his empty eyes, which to his amusement still had a touch of bright, childish curiosity in them. Sweatpants hung low on his hips, and he was drowning in his light grey hoodie. They used to fit him perfectly. He shuffled away to his cozy bed, closing his eyes he as he was enveloped in comfort from the scent of laundry detergent. He needed to take his medication before he could fall asleep. He pried himself off the bed and reached for the drawer of his bedside table, shakily grabbing the pills. He sat, slouched, on the mattress. The pills wouldn't go down well without something to eat or drink. Since he had taken the pills without it for three years, he couldn't see how it was going to negatively impact him more than it had.
     He lied back on the bed. He felt an overwhelming feeling rush over him. Starting out in waves, cool calm to a lump in his throat and stomach churning. Surging around him, a flood. His breaths started to shallow out as if someone was sitting on his chest. He ignored it, pushing it down.

Author's Note

Tell me what you think. I enjoy constructive criticism. There are also some Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, but there will be nothing sexual going on. By the way writing generators are extremely huge source of inspiration for this. This even has a while mythology behind it JUST WAIT until I get to the penguin genocide of 2014