<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<rss version="2.0"
	xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"
	xmlns:wfw="http://wellformedweb.org/CommentAPI/"
	xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"
	xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"
	xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/"
	xmlns:slash="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/slash/"
	>

<channel>
	<title>The  SPASMS  Project &#187; human</title>
	<atom:link href="http://www.spasmsproject.com/archives/category/human/feed/" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml" />
	<link>http://www.spasmsproject.com</link>
	<description>Extremely Short Stories by Amy Frushour Kelly</description>
	<lastBuildDate>Fri, 12 Mar 2010 20:11:25 +0000</lastBuildDate>
	<language>en</language>
	<sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod>
	<sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency>
	<generator>http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3.1</generator>
		<item>
		<title>SIBLING RIVALRY</title>
		<link>http://www.spasmsproject.com/archives/sibling-rivalry/</link>
		<comments>http://www.spasmsproject.com/archives/sibling-rivalry/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 04 Jan 2008 12:05:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Amy</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[brothers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[human]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[robot]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[SPASMS]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.spasmsproject.com/archives/sibling-rivalry/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#160;<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">The problem with fraternal twins, their mother reflected, was that they <i>weren’t</i> alike. Or, rather, they may be alike in their needs and desires, but not in their—</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Robot!”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Human!”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Robot!”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Mo-o-o-om! He’s doing it again!”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Kendra pulled the rest of the wash from the dryer and carried the basket upstairs. “Dustin! Keith! Both of you, go to your rooms!”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“It’s not fair!”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“I never—”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Do I have to count again?”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">The boys knew the look on Kendra’s face, and went quietly to their separate rooms. Neither of them even slammed the door this time. School vacations always started well, but by the end, Kendra was always desperate to get the kids back into school again.</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">It didn’t help that the boys were so different. When people met them on the street, they assumed Dustin wasn’t hers. The parts of Dustin that were inherited from Kendra were more psychological, she supposed. She was folding the laundry now, trying to sort what seemed like dozens of socks, but a persistent banging drew her attention.</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Was it Dustin, or was it Keith? Both?</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Kendra stood up and opened the door to Keith’s room. The boy was on his back on the bed, kicking at the wall. He looked up guiltily. “I wasn’t doing anything.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Knock. It. Off.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“But Dustin—”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“No. And if I hear one more peep out of you for the next ten minutes, no video games for the whole day. Got that?”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Keith let his feet fall to the bed. “Got it.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Good.” Kendra closed the door and knocked on Dustin’s. No reply. She pushed it open and closed it behind her. Dustin was in the chair at his desk, hugging himself. So much bigger than your typical eight-year-old… Dustin never had it easy. She smiled. “You okay?”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“He was kicking out H-U-M-A-N in Morse code.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“How do you two know Morse code?”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Boy Scouts.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Oh.” She nodded. “He didn’t mean it. He just wanted to get your goat.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“It’s not fair.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“I know. But he’s your brother, and he loves you. The same way you love him. Believe it or not, every set of brothers fights this way. It’s called sibling rivalry.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Dustin shrugged.</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“You want me to leave you alone for now?” he nodded. “Okay. Dad’ll be home soon. We’ll play Monopoly, okay?”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Okay.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Kendra was still folding laundry when her husband came home. “Hey, babe. You look exhausted. Want to order Chinese?”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Yeah. The kids might like that. They’ve been fighting all day.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“About what?”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“What do you think?”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">David shook his head. “This has got to stop. Maybe we should go to a family counselor. I’ll check online tonight, see if the insurance covers it.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“We knew it was going to be tough when we got married, hon. I didn’t know how tough it would be. The kids. They’re so different.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“They’re both <i>ours,</i> Ken. No matter how they look, they’re both equal parts of you and me. Dustin <i>and</i> Keith.” </font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“I know.” She smiled. “The Human-Robot family. The Cyborg Bunch.”</font></p><p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">The LCDs in his eyes flashed. He loved the way Kendra smiled.<br /></font></p><p>&#160;</p><p align="center"><i>Copyright 2008 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.</i></p><p align="center"><i>Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.</i></p><p>&#160;</p>]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>&nbsp;
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">The problem with fraternal twins, their mother reflected, was that they <i>weren’t</i> alike. Or, rather, they may be alike in their needs and desires, but not in their—</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Robot!”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Human!”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Robot!”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Mo-o-o-om! He’s doing it again!”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Kendra pulled the rest of the wash from the dryer and carried the basket upstairs. “Dustin! Keith! Both of you, go to your rooms!”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“It’s not fair!”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“I never—”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Do I have to count again?”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">The boys knew the look on Kendra’s face, and went quietly to their separate rooms. Neither of them even slammed the door this time. School vacations always started well, but by the end, Kendra was always desperate to get the kids back into school again.</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">It didn’t help that the boys were so different. When people met them on the street, they assumed Dustin wasn’t hers. The parts of Dustin that were inherited from Kendra were more psychological, she supposed. She was folding the laundry now, trying to sort what seemed like dozens of socks, but a persistent banging drew her attention.</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Was it Dustin, or was it Keith? Both?</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Kendra stood up and opened the door to Keith’s room. The boy was on his back on the bed, kicking at the wall. He looked up guiltily. “I wasn’t doing anything.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Knock. It. Off.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“But Dustin—”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“No. And if I hear one more peep out of you for the next ten minutes, no video games for the whole day. Got that?”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Keith let his feet fall to the bed. “Got it.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Good.” Kendra closed the door and knocked on Dustin’s. No reply. She pushed it open and closed it behind her. Dustin was in the chair at his desk, hugging himself. So much bigger than your typical eight-year-old… Dustin never had it easy. She smiled. “You okay?”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“He was kicking out H-U-M-A-N in Morse code.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“How do you two know Morse code?”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Boy Scouts.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Oh.” She nodded. “He didn’t mean it. He just wanted to get your goat.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“It’s not fair.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“I know. But he’s your brother, and he loves you. The same way you love him. Believe it or not, every set of brothers fights this way. It’s called sibling rivalry.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Dustin shrugged.</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“You want me to leave you alone for now?” he nodded. “Okay. Dad’ll be home soon. We’ll play Monopoly, okay?”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Okay.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">Kendra was still folding laundry when her husband came home. “Hey, babe. You look exhausted. Want to order Chinese?”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“Yeah. The kids might like that. They’ve been fighting all day.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“About what?”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“What do you think?”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">David shook his head. “This has got to stop. Maybe we should go to a family counselor. I’ll check online tonight, see if the insurance covers it.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“We knew it was going to be tough when we got married, hon. I didn’t know how tough it would be. The kids. They’re so different.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“They’re both <i>ours,</i> Ken. No matter how they look, they’re both equal parts of you and me. Dustin <i>and</i> Keith.” </font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">“I know.” She smiled. “The Human-Robot family. The Cyborg Bunch.”</font></p>
<p><font size="3"></font><font face="Times New Roman">The LCDs in his eyes flashed. He loved the way Kendra smiled.<br /></font></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p align="center"><i>Copyright 2008 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.</i></p>
<p align="center"><i>Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.</i></p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
]]></content:encoded>
			<wfw:commentRss>http://www.spasmsproject.com/archives/sibling-rivalry/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
	</channel>
</rss>

<!-- Dynamic Page Served (once) in 0.198 seconds -->

