You are Anon Smith, and you are 10 years old.
You have vague memories of a happy infancy, until one day, shrouded in the fog of memory, the bane of your life appeared. Your mom gave birth to a little girl. Your little sister. Candice.
Everyone always said how pretty Candice was. Everyone always said how nice she was. Everyone always said how good she was. It seemed as though Candice got everything she wanted, while you, as the older sibling, were told to ‘act your age’ and to ‘be the responsible one’ and to ‘behave’. Even worse were the dreaded words ‘why can’t you be more like your little sister Candice?’
You tried your best to love her, but by the age of five, you found it was easier to simply hate her in secret. She was a beast from hell. Your nemesis.
From an early age, you learned not to fight with her. If she wanted to play with your toys, you just had to let her play with them. If she wanted to play games with you, you just had to let her play. Nevermind if she got jello on your toys. Nevermind if she lost things. Nevermind if she broke your super Nintendo.
You tried fighting her, but being a couple years older made you the bigger and stronger one, you always won, only to see her go running to mommy and daddy, crying and telling all. The snitch. Of course, then you were the one that got in trouble, even if she had started things.
So you learned to take revenge in secret.
‘Oh no, how did Candice’s Barbie Doll get in the oven? She’s all melted now.’
‘Candice! Why have you been drawing penis pictures in your math book? Your teacher is really mad this time!’
‘Candice! Is that whisky you’re drinking!’
Eventually, you had to stop, after she broke a leg falling off her bike. You felt bad about that one.
But then, one day, she got some fluffies.
“Anon! Anon! Look! Look what daddy got me from Wal-mart! Its FLUFFIES!”
You look over at your little sister, who is wearing the frenzied expression that only eight year olds who are massively high on sugar can effect. In her arms were three baby fluffies, the brand new craze in biotoy pets. They were red and blue and green, and cooing and chirping as she hugged them.
“Its fluffies! Its fluffies! Its FLUFFIES!” Candice chants, jumping up and down with excitement.
“This one, the red one, is called Barby, and this one, the blue one, is called Dora, she likes to explore things… and and this one! This one is the cutest one! She is green and her momma said she is the bestest-baby, her name is Princess Holly!”
You know now that your little sister will be completely unbearable for the next year or so, or however long… How long do these fluffy things last? Longer than the gerbil she had (which eventually went… exploring). As soon as she showed the fluffies to you, you knew you wanted to kill them with a hammer. There was something unbearably cute about them that just made you want to smash them into a pulp, hearing them scream and beg as you turned them into fluffy paste. But you knew your life would not be worth living if you were caught hurting the fluffies.
“Do you wanna come play with them Anon? Do ya? We got LOADS of toys for them, and Daddy got little costumes for them! We can dress them up as Princesses and have a TEA PARTY! Princess Holly is the real princess, but Dora and Barby can pretend… We can bath them and snuggle them, and do you think mom will let me sleep with them in my bed? Oh, and I nearly forgot the best part! They can TALK!”
You look down at the green fluffy, that Candice has designated a princess.
“Hewwo anon. Fwuffy am Pwincess Howwy! Am bestest babbeh! Wan be nyu fwiend? Do anon hab fwuffies too? Nyu fwuffy fwiends?”
The wide eyed innocence of the fluffies awakens something awful inside you. You only half listen as Barby and Dora introduce themselves and start jabbering excitedly, setting up some kind of excitement feedback loop with your sister which pushes her towards an until now unforeseen frenzy of eight year old enthusiasm. You stare at the fluffies, holding them gently as Candice hands them to you, and watch as she dresses them up, feeds them milk, kibble and treats, and tells them only to poop in a litterbox your dad has bought for them.
You know you will give these creatures unbearable agony. But how? How to do it without getting caught?
Later that night, your sister goes to bed, after much complaining, and without the fluffies. Your mom says they are too small, and might get squashed if she rolls over on top of them, and also that they might poop in her bed. The fluffies have already had a couple of “haxidunts” as they call them, pooping on the floor, or worse still, on you. You immediately wanted to crush the little shit-rat to death as it crapped on your hands, but it played the little sister card 'Huu huu huu… am onwy wittew babbeh… Nu mean make bad poopies… Nu huwt fwuffy… Huu huu huu…"
Even more infuriatingly was the fact that it was Princess Holly that did the pooping. Dora seemed more interested in exploring Candice’s bedroom, getting lost under the bed and finding the doll’s house, to Candice’s hilarity. Barby was the timid one, not venturing far from Candice’s hands, and crying if her braver siblings left her behind.
Now, the fluffies are all asleep in a “fluff-pile”, in what looks like an overpriced dog basket from the fluffy section of Wal-mart. Your sister and parents are also sleeping, and somehow, you find yourself standing in the semi-darkness of her bedroom, staring at the fluffies in the revolving shadow’s of her carousel night-light.
What will you do to them Anon?
What will you do?
