Kickoff written by fat.oaf


A boy, a gun, and a fucking good plan.

I sit sullenly, caressing the gun, a plan already forming in my head.
"What's up with you??" a deep voice interrupts my thoughts.
"Nothing," I sigh. "Shut up."
"I'm asking you a serious question," my older brother persists.
"I don't care about your questions – serious or no."
"Well, you've got that weird look," he mumbles around a mouth full of brownie.
"What weird look?"
"I don't care about your questions, serious or no," Duncan smirks coyly.
"Wow, astounding comedy content!" I whoop sarcastically.
The smile falls off Duncan's face and then there is silence. A lot of silence.
I don’t care as long as there aren't any more questions. I need to develop my plan intricately. It needs to be carefully calculated, slick, and cleanly done.
"You've got that weird look again,"
"Well, I beg your pardon," I say irritably, "Now, shut your mouth."
"Not until you tell me what's up," Duncan stretches and yawns.
"There. Is. Nothing. Up." I deadpan.
"Boy, if you don't piss off with your lies,"
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Duncan smirks and waggles his eyebrows at me.
He is really getting on my nerves now.
"Like your scrawny ass could take me down," I snap, unfairly.
I'd bulked up recently and he knew it. It shut him up though.
The night crawled on and as it did so, my plan came together. A simple plan was too, really. It only involves two things – a gun and a target. Looking in the mirror, I notice my long fringe tumbling down like a baby horse and my eyes that peek out, glowing with vengeance, I pick it up. As always, it surprises me with how heavy it is. It is smooth, cold, and calls my name the way a school bully does. I smile at myself, hold the gun to the looking–glass.

"Bang," I whisper. "Bang, bang, bang!"
"What the fuck Asher?"
"I'm Practicing," I reply. Silence. A lot of it again. I am not used to this, Duncan must be flipping out. After a moment I decided my big brother could be trusted with the plan. "It is time justice is served," I whisper, fondling the gun. He looks me up and down,
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his eyes crinkling with either confusion or horror. Most likely both.
"Don't be bloody stupid." he coughs out.
"I can't help it," I tease, "its a genetic thing." He gulps profusely. “Is this about what happened to dad, Asher?”
He sounds tentative, uncertain.
“First guess, ya bloody genius,” I smirk, cocking the gun.
“That was an accident.”
“Accident or no doesn’t change the fact dad is dead,” I observe, leaning against the door.
Duncan flinches, a frown forming on his face. “So that's’ it then,” he says.
“What’s what then?”“You’re gonna somehow find the drunk driver who ran over dad, shoot him and then get your ass landed in jail?”
"Yep, as long as Dad's murderer is alive, our family isn't safe – you know that."
“And you're just gonna leave me and mum to look after the four kiddies?”
“I’m already working three jobs and Mum is working two.”
“What the hell, Asher.”
His eyes smolder. In one quick leap, he has me up against the door frame, one hand on my
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throat, squeezing. I shove him off and throw him on the ground, kicking him in the head and stomach.
“Pathetic,” I say, spitting on his face.
He glowers at me, wiping the blood trickling down his upper lip.
"You're as toxic to this family as dad's murderer is," he hisses, "You barely contribute anything to our family anything to our family and we're better off without you."
His smile is triumphant as he hurls what he thinks is the ultimate insult.
"You know what?" I grin. "You're right for once, you are better off without me,” I smile at him, push my hair back.

“Oh, and by the way,” I add, “I was the drunk driver, I’m the one who landed dad’s ass in the grave."
Then I pop the gun in my mouth and pull the trigger.
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