Blood Brothers: A Short Story

10166520. 21 years, 4 days, 2 hours and 49 minutes. Those numbers are a string that not even the cleverest of minds would bother to remember. It was meaningless, unimportant and frankly aggravating. Except for a rather ordinary man. Arthur Kirkland from birth had been told that string of numbers since his birth. Everyone was told a set, it was only natural to learn the numbers that would reveal your destiny. People had no idea when the system started, some believing it to be the work of aliens, a demon, even God, which was all poppycock according to Arthur. The numbers wee to reveal your soul mate, prefect numbers, design and colour changing for person and spot. Arthur's own Crimson ink in spidery numbers, imprinted on his left wrist. They

it is never mind eight, but nine is too much for her. She gives one of

Booker T Washington, photo retrieved from the image archives, index04B4RVIR from the New York Public Library. Booker T. Washington in Public Domain (Free Copy Right Use).

Instead, he said, "You guys hungry? I've got breakfast ready to cook down at the house."

“Chicken parmesan.” I replied, placing a pan on the stove. I move to get the spices out of the cabinet above my head and he moves with me. I giggle, then try to push him off. “Liam, I’m trying to cook.”

Mickey looked at the rules for this boat and was grateful that he had lost five pounds ever since being diagnosed with diabetes. His boat would float a little easier with having less weight to hold. The project had said to create a cardboard boat and paddles out of plastic, duct tape, and cardboard. While deciding on a basic structure for the boat, he has flashbacks from the Fourth of July. As Mickey thinks back to that glorious, hot dog filled day, he is reminded of himself barking endlessly at a passing dog on what he remembers being called a pontoon boat. The dog looked so peaceful to him. With all of those people on one platform easily balanced out by the large silver tubes on each side. Mickey wanted his boat to seem as peaceful and structurally

"Let's eat before the fish is cold. Besides the salmon, I also made baked potatoes, carrots, and peas. I made just plain food except for the soy butter sauce for the grilled salmon. What is that, under your dishcloth that ye brought?" He

“I am making breakfast, do you want egg’s” He looked at me like I was saying something disappointing.

Instead, he said, "You guys hungry? I've got breakfast ready to cook down at the house."

“Well, I came back here to tell you lot that whoever catches that thief gets a reward of fifteen shillings! Quite a hefty amount is it not?” mused Russell. The others gaped at him in shock. “Well if it’s ‘quite a hefty amount’ as you said, then why not try for it yourself?” mocked Samuel in suspicion. “I would but I’ve got to get back to the rails. That’s where I heard of the reward, and one of the boys say they saw him head east of the bridge,” answered Russell not missing a beat.

“Hello Miep. Nice to see you. Let me help you with the food.” said Anne very nicely. Anne went to go put the food on the table

When Harry arrives at Hogwarts, he and the other first-years follow Hagrid into a giant castle. Harry and the other first years meet a strict Hogwarts teacher who tells them that they will be sorted into houses. These houses, she said, will be like your family-you will earn points for your house by triumphing, as lose points for trouble-making. They are told that they will be sorted into the houses depending on how well they do on a test. They are left to wait in silence. Suddenly a bunch of ghosts burst through the wall, talking, and see the students. They greet the students kindly and tell them they hope to see them in their old house. Based upon the talk of the kids, there is a bad house, Slytherin, that all bad wizards got into, even Voldemort.

“No!” Phillip demanded, but before Russell could confirm the termination of the records from the computer he felt an intense pain spring out from his wrist that then it rocketed throughout his entire body. “Augh!” Russell cried as he felt himself being pulled back from the desk, the agony from searing pain guiding his every move, his control over himself stolen from him.

As Ethan’s focus fell back to Mrs Beauchamp, he could have sworn he saw the ghost of a smirk vanish from her face.

Director favored him with a smile that warmed like sunshine. “See you later,” she spoke with an odd, stilted cadence. Then she turned to exit the break room, heading toward the corner office.