For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had to look out for myself in one way or another. Sure, my parents were around sometimes, but let’s be honest: most of the time, they were barely there at all.
I used to think it would've been nice to have a sibling. Someone to watch over me, y'know? That thought stuck with me when I was younger. I’ve always been an only child, so I spent most of my time just hanging around with my own tho—
The narration cuts off suddenly as the harsh buzzing of an alarm clock jolts our protagonist from his slumber.
A teenage male deer stirs in bed his messy blonde hair falling into his light brown eyes, and his fur… well, let’s just say it’s not in the best condition. Not that he seems to care. He casually scratches his cheek, then his rear, and rolls out of bed.
He grabs a wrinkled set of clothes from a nearby chair and puts them on himself. They’re definitely not clean. Then again, neither is his room. but hey, he’s a teenager. What do you expect?
“9 AM. Mom and Pops should already be at work. A whole week for me to do whatever I want.”
A sly grin spreads across his face as he daydreams about the endless possibilities. With a quick burst of energy, he bolts down the stairs toward the front door only to stop dead in his tracks.
Sitting casually at the kitchen table is someone unfamiliar.
The male deer, narrows his eyes at the small figure seated there.
“Uh… hey there, kiddo. You lost or something? Like, you missed your house and just wandered into mine?”
The smaller deer fidgets with his fingers, clearly nervous.
“No, this is my house, mister. I’m just waiting for my lunch to finish in the microwave.”
Our Protagonist stares, unamused.
“Your house huh? Funny: You’re a funny little guy, aren’t you? Now why don’t you tell me where you really live so I can show you the door so you can go bother your parents instead?”
Adjusting his shirt, The Deer lifts the kid right out of the chair.
“You look kinda familiar though... What’s your name, pipsqueak?”
The eldest of them asked as he kept examining the younger one, from a first glance he was the complete opposite of him, that is, if we're talking about higyene. He doesn't seem to take into the fact that they share some traits between one another, same hair and eye color, and even some peculiar spots on both their right face cheeks.
“Angie,” the youngling replies, still dangling mid-air.
The older deer freezes. The name hits something, either a memory or a nerve. Maybe both.
There’s a beat of silence.
“You okay, mister? What’s your name?” Angie asks, trying to wriggle free.
“Huh? Oh. My name… it’s Michael. Just... Michael.”
Now Angie goes still. His brain seems to shut off completely, as if hearing that name short-circuited something.
“Hey, hey, hey! Angus or whatever!” Michael snaps his fingers in front of Angie’s face. “Enough of the statue act!”
He exhales sharply, clearly annoyed.
“Okay, that’s enough intros for one day. Now, you’re really starting to bug me, so here’s the deal: either you tell me where your parents are, or where you live or I’m dropping you off at the nearest orphanage and letting them deal with this mess.”
“No, no, no! Wait! My lunch!” Angie yells as Michael drags him out of the kitchen and toward the front door.
“Hey! I’m telling you the truth! This is my house! Look!” Angie points desperately at the photos on the wall. “See that framed photo? Those are my parents! Mom and Dad!”
“Pffft. Yeah, right,” Michael scoffs. “Say whatever you want but those are my boring parents. Not yours, flea.”
He mockingly pokes Angie on the nose.
“But I’m telling the truth! Their names are Ben and Rita!”
Michael’s eyes widen slightly. He wasn’t expecting those names. He suddenly doesn’t seem so sure of himself.
“Oh yeah? Then tell me something about ‘Ben,’ smart guy.”
Angie nods quickly. “He’s such a good dad! He reads me a bedtime story whenever he can. He buys me toys and cool stuff. He loves doing BBQs every Sunday — and he always starts them at 3 PM sharp, even if it’s raining or snowing, because that’s”
“The only day we can spend time as a family.” both deer say at once.
A long silence follows.
Michael sighs and drops Angie from his grip. The little deer lands with a soft thud.
“You’ve got my attention now, dingus,” he mutters. “So you're saying, that this is your house. And you’re saying my parents are also your parents. So, here’s my question: who are you really? And don’t give me the short version. Pretend it’s a school project.”
Angie rubs his sore backside, then looks up.
“Well... like I said, my name’s Angie. My parents are Ben and Rita. I’m nine, and I’ve lived in this house my whole life. I… I think I have a big brother too, but... I don’t really remember him all that well...”
Michael raises an eyebrow.
“Well Try!”
“I told you, I don’t remember what he looks like clearly. But, umm…”
“Come on! I got better things to do! Spit it out!”
“Well... you kinda remind me of him. Moody, angry, like he hasn’t slept in three days…
Smells like sweat and old chips...
And he also Doesn’t brush his teeth much either.”
Michael glares.
“Are you making fun of me, dweeb?”
“Not at all, Mr. Michael. I think he was actually really cool! He was just misunderstood. Underneath it all, he was really nice.”
“Hmmph. Whatever. And don’t call me "Mister." I’m only sixteen it makes me feel like i'm forty or something.
Okay, now you’re giving me the chills. Unless my parents had a secret son I never knew about, something weird is going on here.”
Michael folds his arms.
“Alright, pipsqueak. I’ll tell you what. Since Mom and Pops aren’t coming back ‘til the weekend, you’re staying here. You say this is your house? Fine. You’ll live under my rules until they get back. Don’t like it? Door’s right there.”
Angie shrugs.
“That’s fine. The more time I spend with you, the more you remind me of my older brother anyway. So it’s not that different.”
Michael scowls.
“You’re such a smartass, aren’t ya? Oh and another thing. I don’t want to hear any more complaints about how I smell or look, got it? I don’t like repeating myself. Gosh, I hate dealing with kids.”
“Hehehe! Now you really sound like him! You're a big, grumpy ogre!”
Michael suddenly grabs Angie by the collar and raises his left fist like he’s about to punch him square in the face. He growls low, almost like a dog, but somehow still keeps his trademark deadpan expression.
“Yep! This is exactly what he would do too! But i don't think he ever actually punched me once”
Michael abruptly lets go as if he had lost all interest out of nowhere. Angie hits the ground again with a thump.
“Whatever. Suit yourself around or.. don’t. I really hope some lady comes knocking and claims you. But until then, it’s gonna be one long week so don’t burn down the house while cooking on the microwave. I’m going out to buy food. You stay here.”
He turns to leave.
“We’re good, Archie?”
“Angie!”
“Yeah, that.”
Michael mutters something under his breath and walks out.
Little did good ol’ Michael knew…
It wasn’t just going to be one week.
But that’s a tale for another time.
![::[FVH - H]:: OK KO! ::](https://sf.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/5670/5670915_Kentobi_lakewood1_noncustom.jpg "::[FVH - H]:: OK KO! ::")