c. 1992 · Short story — written at thirteen.
It was 10:30 AM and the children of the family were sitting at the table talking. James, a boy of nine, had brown hair and bluish green eyes. He started a conversation asking George, the eldest in the family, if he would set up the Sega System. That was a computer designed solely for games. Like Nintendo, it was one of James’ favorite things. George responded, “James, why don’t you just talk to everyone instead of playing games and such. We did not come here to play, we came to be social and celebrate Thanksgiving.” George was about five feet and seven inches tall. His brown eyes matched with his dark brown hair. He was wearing a flannel shirt, covered by a blue jacket. His grey and white jeans did not quite match with the rest, but to him, it looked fine. “C’mon George, you always do computer when you come here,” said James defensively. “At least I do something resourceful instead of clogging my brain with microwaves. I write stories.” James had nothing to say after that. But when Barbara said, “I want to play Sega too.” James perked up a bit and sneered at George. George continued to refuse and went downstairs to type on the computer. Michael and Barbara followed him downstairs nagging at him about the Sega. Linda was just watching them, waiting for a chance to tattle when one of them made trouble. Susan, the children’s mother, came down the stairs saying, “What’s going on? James calm down. What do you want?” James spoke first, “George won’t set up the Sega for me and Barbara.” George knew that he would have to do it sooner or later and said, “Mom, I do not know how to do it.” But his Mom laughed and said, “C’mon George, just set it up. Show James how to do it.” George finally agreed to do it and turned off the computer after he was halfway through a paragraph. He walked upstairs to see that the Sega games were there, but the Sega itself was not there.
“James!” George yelled, “Where is the Sega?” James did not answer, so George went downstairs and began to write another story. About five minutes later, James came down and said, “George, I thought you were going to fix it up for me.” George, who had a bad temper, yelled at him with extreme ferocity. “Damn it! Where is the fucking thing? James, where did you put it? Do you expect me to get it for you? Well if you do, you’re fucking wrong!!” James shut up and ran upstairs and told his mom what George had said. Susan stormed downstairs and said, “Damn it, George. I told you not to cuss.” And George’s face grew red. Half an hour later, George had a couple chapters finished off his new book, “Sega, a Thirteen Year Old’s Nightmare.” He continued writing it. A section went like this: Sega is a thirteen year old’s nightmare, it causes extreme insanity. Sega is a thirteen year old’s nightmare, it breaks families. Sega is a thirteen year old’s nightmare, it destroys brain cells. Sega is a thirteen year old’s nightmare, it costs a lot of money. And the chapter went on for tens of more pages. James was upstairs playing Sega, after George had set it up unconsciously, while he was thinking of something to write about. He then thought of the excerpt, Sega is a thirteen year old’s nightmare, it is hard to set it up.
An hour later, it was 12:53 PM. Nobody had eaten lunch because they wanted to clean out their stomachs before dinner, when they would ravenous chow down on their Grandmother’s juicy turkey. They were going to eat their dinner pretty early, at around 2:30 PM, because dinner would take a couple of hours to eat. James was still being mind controlled by the Sega, and Barbara was playing with him. They were playing a bad came called “Time Soldiers.” Linda was upstairs in the dining room with her family talking about the story George was writing. Linda had been hiding behind the couch and catching parts of his early best-seller. Linda snuck upstairs and started to type it down on her Grandmother’s typewriter. She occasionally ran downstairs to copy what George was writing. And she also made up a few of her own. She finally finished the story at about the time George did. It was almost dinner time, and Barbara was setting up the table. George had run up to his Grandmother to ask her if she wanted to read his story. She refused saying that it was too late for that. George agreed and when Linda came to ask her if she wanted to read it, she said the same. They ate a hearty dinner, and when it was time to finish, a bullet came shooting out of nowhere, hitting Barbara in the back of her head, sending her crashing into the side of the wall. A second shot sent James crashing into the television screen. The doorbell rang and Jackie came in carrying a NATO assault rifle. “Hi, guys. Look what I got for Thanksgiving present.” George ran behind a couch and hid there silently, his stealth incredible. Neither Barbara nor James moved ever again. Jackie held the rest of the family hostage, but she did not see George, who was hiding behind the couch. “Okay, everyone. Give me all your money and I will let you go. I am sorry for the inconvenience.” Everyone gave her their money and she and her boyfriend, a guy by the name of Jaime, escaped. While she left, she shot her mother in the head. George came out and quickly patched up Jackie’s mother who nevertheless dies soon after. Well, none of the family was happy after this.
During the night, a lighting bolt hit the house and caused it to explode into flames. George’s book was burnt to ashes. George was the only one who escaped from the house.
Ten years later, Jackie and Jaime were married and during their honeymoon were arrested. They both got the chair. Even though they were underage, they roasted. George became famous after selling his book, The Thanksgiving Catastrophe!, and became a millionaire.
Composed 1992 · part of the Short Stories collection · authorship documented on the Provenance page.