PETER SLEPT TILL 11 AM, THAT SATURDAY… on the ‘first’ day of his school’s term break holiday. It was getting bright and warmer in his room… since the air-con’s ‘safe-energy’ off-timer kicked in, hours earlier…

… Peter opened his eyes…

… for a split-moment, he did ‘not’ recognize his own room – as it was neat and organized. He THEN REMEMBERED, boxing-away ‘most’ of his collections in the garage, yesterday.

He came downstairs bare-bodied, wearing only his underwear…

… he noticed Paul, wearing a turtleneck jersey, and was playing his NOVA 3 videogame on his iPhone, near the kitchen. He was seated on a temporary ‘manual’ wheelchair, loaned from the hospital.

His mobile-wheelchair was wrecked in the thunderstorm incident – but, it was under warranty… and the wheelchair manufacturers had promised to ‘send’ a replacement soon.

Their mother was at work, at the police station.

“Did Mom leave cash for lunch?” Peter asked… but got ‘no’ response from his twin.

… Peter glanced to his left, and saw the $50 note on top of the kitchen counter…

“Poe, we are ordering a pizza for lunch, okay?” Still ‘no’ response from his gaming twin.

“Where is today’s newspaper…?” he mumbled to himself.

Peter opened the front door and stepped out, wearing only his underwear. It was closer to noon, the concrete walkway was hot, but HE WALKED BAREFOOTED, further to the entrance, to the road. He doesn’t mind the heat – he was ‘used’ to it – after a lot of daily afternoon practising tennis, in Stamford High’s outdoor courts.

Neighbours across the street saw the bogan-delinquent ‘son,’ of the police Inspector – who was a peculiar ‘sight,’ to see…

… of the suntanned tween – with only one arm, clad only in his underwear. A small girl laughed, pointing at his mooning buttock-cheek.

The newspaper’s headline was the local-economy by his equally-disliked Mayor of Perth, John Blake – ‘which’ did ‘not’ interest him. He flipped over to back, at the sports section – disappointed seeing the boxing headlines – Jeff Horn lost.

Entering back in the front door, the one-armed boy walked up to the kitchen marble-counter – and laid the newspaper down, on it and flipped the inside-pages:

‘Freak storm kills 34 cows in Treeton’

“Poe look! We ‘are’ in the papers!”

He cried out – his eyes missing ‘out’ the SUBTITLE BELOW, although it was in ‘bold’…

‘Aussie veteran hurt while rescuing 3 handicap children’

“What the bloody hell is this – the story is featured on page 3, this ‘should’ be in the front-page, instead of some BS bloody-politician – and the headlines too is SO-SO-WRONG – storm kills 34 cows!? They are more interested in the bloody profit-loss, of their bloody-cows.”

… Peter then read, the fine print – and he shouted and exclaimed out even louder…

“Damnit! That Methodist van-driver took all the ‘credit!’ It says, the war veteran John Hart went ‘over’ to rescue 3 handicap children, who wandered in the field, in the storm!”

Paul too was further ‘curious,’ and he physically wheeled himself over, to the kitchen counter.

“This is BULLSHIT REPORTING, Poe! ‘Who’ goes wandering in a thunderstorm!!? I was desperately running for my life out there, AVOIDING BEING STRUCT by those killer thunderbolts. And, this-bloody reporter made a bedside interview, with the ‘faker’ veteran, and he got all of the glory – just give this man ‘another’ medal, yeah – You deserve it, mate!”

… Paul glowed darker blue… shaking his head… of what Peter had badmouthed.

The irked Peter continued. “You were ‘not’ even-out there, in the field when it happened, in the first place – I don’t remember ‘seeing’ your bloody-veteran-ass out there – in ‘your’ gung-ho, high octane daring, HANDICAP-RESCUE-MISSION!

“But yet, this newspaper gave him the ‘glory,’ to exploit its readers’ bloody-sentiments, with FALSE-SYMPATHY – that the alleged so-called ‘bogan-hero’ who had saved those, ooo’ poor handicap kittens and puppies from – oooh, from the SCARY DANGEROUS THUNDERSTORM. Come on, give me a rock-and-roll break, you Elvis-faker!”

… Paul was agitated, that Peter had insulted his new-found senior friend – the war veteran, John Hart, whom he had BONDED WELL, in their recent visit to the farm trip…

“Why was I ‘not’ interviewed, I was a witness that day, and I’m a pretty ‘credible’ one too – and who-I was sometime ‘ago’ was featured in the sports-bloody-section for this same bloody NEWSPAPER, 2 YEARS AGO – for being their tennis protégé of Perth! Then, ‘why’ wasn’t this reporter at my bedside, interviewing me instead!!?”

… Paul tossed his phone on the countertop – annoyed that Peter was so-arrogant and self-centred, even though his PROTÉGÉ DAYS WERE ‘OVER’ since that tragic road accident – and basing the progress fact, where the ‘lesser’ boys – were now beating Peter, in the court ever since.

“Hey-you, Peter – everything is ‘NOT’ ABOUT YOU, okay???

“In the first place, you ran off drongo-crazy, in that bloody-field in the middle of the thunderstorm, and that made us ‘all’ come running OVER TO RESCUE YOU, including Mr Hart! And, I was the first responder, at that time – but, what did ‘you’ do in return? You, you almost STRANGLE ME TO DEATH – that was by sheer-luck, that a bolt of lightning ‘struck’ us all – or else, you would have choked, and strangled-me to death!”

“What? What…? ‘When’ did I strangle you?” Peter denied.

… Paul pulled down his turtleneck – to reveal a diamond-shaped scar.

“Look ‘here’ at my throat – now look at the ‘palm’ of your hand. You pressed that red-hot stone when you ‘did’ strangle me!”

Peter looked down at the ‘cursed’ scar, in his palm… but closed his fist, to conceal it…

… Paul continued saying…

“What were you thinking, ‘why’ did you try to kill your own rescuers? Sometimes I feel so-afraid of staying ‘alone,’ in this house with you when Mom is away at work – you are damn-bloody-going-off-crazy at times!”

Cladded only in his underwear, Peter was stumped, staring back at this his twin – but, he finally spoke back...

“No, Paul – the situation is ‘complicated’ – you have ‘not’ seen Ms King’s eyes, that shone green! Look, Poe, I was ‘okay’ the entire-trip to that cow farm – until that ‘creature’ followed me, in her car ‘over’ there. I freaked out, and I ran, okay? She wanted to take my lucky charm.”

… Peter realized, that he ‘was’ referring the evil-amulet, till this moment, as his LUCKY CHARM – but, all it brought him was ‘cursed’ misfortune.

He now noticed Paul laughing out.

“So, The-Incredible Hulk now… has a distant cousin, down-under – and her name is Ms King, is that it, mate?”

Peter thought that Paul lost his sense of humour in the 2 years, since the accident. He was once the practical joker in the family, delighting his mother with his cunning wits.

The annoyed-one-armed twin countered...

“Hey, here you are -glowing,’ like a moving Blue-Christmas tree on wheels. Why you, sneaky twin of the Joker, do-you think you can out-smart me always, BY KEEPING ‘SECRETS’ – and I look like a crazy-fool always, in front of Mom?”

Paul did ‘not’ reply, and only kept chuckling to himself.

“Why the secrecy, Poe…? Why do you keep ‘lying’ to Mom, in her face – you are glowing blue, and me in red. Why ‘NOT’ ADMIT-AND-TELL HER…? Tell me now, what’s ‘your’ game plan, you-Elvis the wheelchair-pelvis? I ‘always’ tell you mine!!!”

“No game plans, Pete – come on, ‘who’ will believe me anyway, if I had told? I noticed Mom and the doctors CAN’T SEE ME glow, so ‘why’ bother tell…?

“So… I was the ‘fool’ all these-whiles… for being honest… huh?”

“Get over it, mate – the glowing must some ‘TEMPORARY,’ SIDE-EFFECTS in our minds, from that lightning strike – maybe it will wear off soon.”

“But still, it’s ‘not’ fair, right…? … that you are DECEIVING ‘US’ BOTH – and Mom too!”

Peter was irked and dissatisfied – and left the kitchen, and headed upstairs, with the newspapers…

-O-

… his twin-Paul have an upper-hand, he had OUTSMARTED HIM BY LOGICAL THINKING, while – he was in return had been ‘reacting’ base on his personal ‘bad-emotions’ – which seems as irrational, to an adult’s logic.

Peter admitted that his twin was cunning, and ‘has’ certain-leverage on him…

… the crippled twin would ‘betray’ him someday, with a confession to their inspector-mother – on how PETER’S ‘KICKING’ had caused the ‘distraction’ in the car – that killed their father.

Upstairs, he reached his room – and his ‘mind’ was muddled – and he distracted himself by rereading back, ‘news’ about the thunderstorm in the Treeton farm…

… as Peter was recollecting the events of that Thursday…

The curse of the amulet was pure evil, and it was real – just like the creature, Ms King with green glowing eyes. But yet, he had ‘NO’ AVENUE TO PROVE IT. And, his deep-deep thinking…

… got him tired fast with it brewing, with intoxicating negativity – and, he dozed-off in his underwear.

<><>

THE DOORBELL RANG, while Paul was into his own ‘world’ – fantasizing of being as able-bodied ‘persona,’ in combat – while levelling up playing NOVA 3, on his iPhone – before being ‘distracted.’

He was ‘back’ in reality – and heard music played upstairs. He glanced over at the CCTV monitor – that had video-feeds of 5 cameras, including the front door.

He had visitors that Saturday morning – it was ALICIA AND JANE – visiting him, on the first day of the school break.

“Hey-Paul, G’day, we came to cheer you up – how you been?” Alicia greeted the moment when Paul opened the door.

“Very-fine, thank you… please, do come on in.”

He grinned in his wheelchair… and invited them in. Alicia came in first, and Paul’s eyes caught ‘yellow’ glowing-Jane behind her. Her dreadlocked hair had almost-shone golden. The blind girl spoke up…

“Paul, I can ‘see’ you – so… this ‘WHAT’ BLUE-IS...”

Paul was stumped. “Yeah, you too… ‘YOU’ ARE… GOLDEN…”

“You mean yellow…? Ali, what is blue-colour ‘mixed’ with golden yellow?”

“Green, I guess.”

“And, what is red mixed with yellow?” Blind-Jane asked again.

“Hey Janey, I’m ‘not’ Google.”

“But you got a photographic mind.” Jane shot back.

All the 3 tweens laughed. The blind girl turned towards Paul – whom she can ‘see’ him, in shades of green, on his wheelchair.

“Where is Peter?”

“He’s upstairs.”

“I must ‘see’ him.”

Paul-hesitated a moment, before saying...

“Okay, just follow the Gorillaz music.”

“Oh, Gorillaz… thanks, Paul – will look that ‘one’ up too, in Google.”

Paul’s HEART ‘SANK,’ when he saw Jane carefully walked the steps that led upstairs.

“Hey Pauly, look over here – I brought you some of my old PlayStation games. They are fighting-type mostly. Also, some manga comics too.” Alicia distracted him.

“Are they in-Japanese? I don’t read Japanese.”

“No, it is in-English, silly. I’m ‘half-Taiwanese’ not Japanese. Come, let’s play Mortal Kombat – hook me up, Paul.”

-O-

Upstairs…

… Jane approached further, and the music got louder. She reached his bedroom and his door was opened. She saw a REDDISH-ENERGY ‘GLOW’ inside…

… it attracted her to ‘enter.’ Jane went over to the bedside. She placed her hand out and touched the sleeping Peter’s back.

Peter who slept on his belly, was startled – and instantly reflexed, as he pulled up his blanket to cover up his underwear, which he wore.

“Jesus! Janey, ‘what’ are-you doing here…? You could have knocked first before you enter – you and, even my Mom, don’t do that!”

“Sorry about that, Champ – ‘no’ intention of peeping on-your boyhood here.” Jane giggled.

“’ None’ taken, but I know where you were coming from… cos’ you are blind.” Peter replied … and they both laughed.

She sat on his bed and touched his glowing stump arm.

“Actually… I came to see what is ‘red’ all-about – I even ‘saw’ Paul glowing blue, downstairs.”

Peter sat up immediately...

“Oh-my-sweet-Crickey-Lord! You can ‘SEE’ IT TOO – the glowing colours?”

Blind-Jane then touched Peter’s forehead, and her fingers ran down the bridge of his nose, and next to his lips, saying...

“Yes, Champ… I can ‘see’ shades of it – and also the silhouettes, that form shapes – yes-Peter, I CAN ‘SEE’ YOU!”

Overjoyed, she hugged him.

-O-

Downstairs…

… Paul was ‘not’ himself. He could hardly focus himself, to play Mortal Kombat – and Alicia’s Lady Kitana was trashing Paul’s Johnny Cage character, into a pulp…

… Alicia was getting the ‘better’ of him – and even-paused the game to ask… ‘why’, as a keen gamer he was playing so ‘badly’ – he gave an excuse, that he preferred shooting games, and ‘not’ of the martial arts kind.

After 40 minutes, of curious agony, Paul finally ‘saw’ Jane ACCOMPANIED BY PETER, descending the stairs – his twin was wearing his old, 2014’s World Cup Socceroo jersey and tracky-daks. He was ‘HOLDING’ HER-HAND, guiding the blind girl downstairs.

That irked Paul even-more when he saw the one-armed Peter still holding Jane’s hand – as he led his visitor, to the kitchen. While Paul was facing the large LED TV monitor, with videogame playing out-loud, and with the kitchen was behind him.

Paul could hear the fridge door open, and sounds of cans placed on the kitchen marble top counter, and the fizzling sound of Coca-Cola cans being opened.

For another 30 minutes, of further excruciating feeling – and Paul was ‘hearing’ laughter after laughter, of their inaudible conversation, ‘behind’ him.

Then finally, Alicia got ‘bored’ of-winning, without being challenged… and she stopped playing. She was hungry-too… and she called out to Jane saying that it was 1:30 p.m.

The blind girl suggested, that they ‘all’ went to Alicia’s aunt’s restaurant, for lunch in Chinatown – as she craved ‘again’ for her favourite Taiwanese stinky tofu dish.

Everyone agreed, ‘except’ for Paul – he excused himself that he was tired, and needed a nap. Peter said to him…

“Poe, if that is the case, you go order a pizza – and you can pig-out, and ‘kill’ my share too.” The one-armed-twin winked before he closed the front door.

Paul sighed deep and long… being-alone now in the house.

It annoyed him, that Jane was GETTING EVEN CLOSER to his one-armed brother. He felt lesser as a cripple, compared to Peter – who could ‘walk’… despite being a handicap.

He lost his appetite – and he next brooded with self-pity, in his locked bedroom, with no windows…

… sitting-alone, in the darkened room, glowing in deep purple.