Short Fiction: Home is several flights of stairs down.
The Pevensies’ ain’t got nothing on Classy and Jaden.
“I knew you’d come”. I did not think he would come. I let my brother into our childhood home and give him a once over. A mossy sweater-vest paired with a crisp white button down, black straight-cut slacks, and the academic’s standard horn-rimmed glasses. He looks like an asshole. No, he looks like he’s up his own asshole.
“How was the flight?” I prompt, yanking a lilac dress out of the pile of clothes haphazardly tossed onto the couch as we walk by.
“On schedule, surprisingly. I prognosticated needing to drive here instead.” Prognosticated? Ass-hole…asshole who nearly has his Bachelor’s degree. I pull the dress on over my hair and spend precious time re-fluffing my fro.
“That’s great, Jaden. This way…” He stares at me silently; I can see the gears turning in his head. Whatever he’s thinking, he decides not to share it. He simply sighs, adjusts his snooty glasses, and continues on next to me.
“We’re here.” I squat down to briefly check my appearance in the mirror next to the coat closet’s door. I should’ve moved the mirror up higher years ago, once I’d gotten too tall for it to be of any use to me sitting at its meager 4ft height. But that was how it’d been when…
