Page 1 of Formaldehyde

Once again, I love to gross people out and this is full of gross and questionable things but it also might turn you into a leaky pipe.

Have fun, my pretty dead girl but remember, don’t fall too deep. You don’t know where you might land.

This wasn’t the first time I’d sunk into my sister's wet heat.

I loved my sister like I’d never loved anyone before, and she loved me back. I loved her like a big brother should love his sister. We shared the same womb, our DNA sprouting from the same vessel, intertwined with each other for an eternity.

I was a part of her and she was a part of me, two souls connected by blood. Blood that I’d watched spill from her battered body like a poisonous river.

I loved my sister, Alina.

I loved her enough to scrape her splattered remains off of the floor and bring her back from the dead, because that’s what a big brother should do.

Right?

Death comes to us all, in one way or another. Whether it be natural selection, a tragic accident, a surprise illness or straight up murder. Whichever option you’re handed, you have to deal with it when your time is up.

I hadn’t always thought about death this way but recently my mind has become a dark pit of toxic thoughts. A cesspool of black tar that’s beginning to slip its way through my cracks. I’m not sure if I was always this way, maybe something changed in me at some point in my life but I could never highlight the exact moment.

Sitting at the table in the kitchen, I dig the tip of the steak knife into the scratched wood of the surface, imagining all the ways I could gouge my dad’s eyes out. Clearly, I can picture his piss stained eyes popping like a burst balloon as I shove the knife into his pupils, watching it crack open like a raw egg. He’d squeal like a little bitch and I’d thrive in that sickening sound.

“Ethan, can you not destroy the table please and eat your breakfast.” My mum’s voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard yanked me out of the dark vision and into the present. “Where’s your sister?”

I keep my gaze low, allowing the dark inky strands of my hair to fall over my eyes. “How am I supposed to know?” I huff out whilst continuing to dig the knife further into the wood. My mum blows out a sigh of annoyance and my dad slams his meaty sausage fingers onto the table, causing the plates and glasses to clatter around.

“Don’t you fucking speak to your mother like that, you wretched boy!” Spittle flies from his crusted mouth but I don’t even flinch anymore, I used to. I would cower away in fear like a pussy but now, I crave his violence, for it feeds that wicked animal inside of me that’s begging to be set free from its confines.

My mum halts her steps, her lifeless eyes darting between me and my dad before she places a plate down in my sister's spot at the table. I can see the fear that radiates from her weak body, the way the plate rattled in her hand before she placed it down onto the table. She’s nothing but a punching bag now and I can’t even bring myself to feel any kind of sorrow for her. I can’t bring myself to feel anything for either of them, except for my sister.

My dear, sweet little sister.

I know I shouldn’t feel this way about her but I can’t stop the hunger inside of me that threatens to feed on her every time she’s around me.

The chair at the left of me scrapes across the tiled floor before my mum takes her place.

“Can you go and fetch your sister please?” She looks at me with a pointed stare and I release my hand from around the knife, letting it clatter onto the table before shoving my chair backwards and rising to my already freakishly tall height, then I leave the dismal kitchen on the hunt to find my little sister.

Afoul stench of cigarettes and stale beer clings to the pale yellow, papered walls. It tingles through my senses as I travel through the small house towards the stairs, feeling the pull of my sister’s energy. My heavy boots land on the threadbare carpet of the stairs, each step creaking as I make my way upstairs towards Alina’s bedroom. The low hum of her favourite punk rock music filters through the short hallway and I can just about hear her sweet voice humming along with the heavy beat.

With silent steps, I creep towards her bedroom and lean against the doorframe, my gaze heavy on my sister’s back as she tries to fasten the clasp of her bra. She fumbles a few times and curses out when she drops the fabric for a third time.

“Need my help?” I say with a sharp tone and she jumps, her hands flying to her chest to keep her perky tits covered, but what she doesn’t realise is that I’ve already seen everything she has to offer. Alina has a tendency to sleep in the skimpiest outfits.

“Fucking hell, Ethan. You scared the shit outta’ me.” She spits out with a dark glint in her eye and her cheeks flush a perfect pink colour when she catches me roaming my eyes over her bare shoulders.

“Better me than anyone else.” I say, then take a step into her brightly coloured bedroom, then another until I’m right next to her. Something tropical and fruity wafts up my nose. Her signature scent that seems to bounce off every wall before barreling into me like a freight train. Alina keeps the lacy pink bra tightly clutched to her chest as her silver, grey eyes roam from the tattoos that cover my neck, towards my jaw and upwards to meet my dark gaze. That same pink flush that covers the apples of her cheeks glows brighter now with my hard stare.

“You’re staring, Ethan.”

“I know. Now turn around.” I demand. She hesitates for a moment before spinning on her bare feet, her platinum blonde hair brushes against my hoodie as she turns to give me her back. That same, intoxicating tropical smell hits me again and blood instantly rushes southward.

Lifting my hands, I gather Alina’s soft locks into a makeshift ponytail and immediately visions of her on her knees in front of me flash across my eyes, flickering like an erotic film. She moans around my pierced length, a lust filled haze glazing over her stormy eyes as she looks up at me through hooded eyes.

“Ethan? Is.. everything alright?” She asks, tipping her chin over her shoulder.

As quick as the vision came, it disappeared and I cleared my throat, continuing to gather my sister’s hair before laying it over her shoulder. A shudder runs through her slim body and I can’t stop myself from running the pads of my fingers over the expanse of her shoulders blades and down towards the unfastened bra.

Every single thing about this is wrong, I know it is. These feelings I have towards my sister are downright sinful, sickening even, but who the fuck is going to tell me it shouldn’t be?