It's been four hours since I last came out of my room, and several more since I've eaten anything substantial. A growling noise erupts from my wendigo of a stomach, filling the room and bouncing from wall to wall before returning to lash at my eardrums. I take that as my cue to get up.
Climbing down from my loft bed is, you could say, a rather tall order when the ceiling fan is running, so of course, it's turned off. If it wasn't for my window fan (which isn't really in the window), it would be ninety in here.
It's still, like, eighty-nine.
I ignore my sibling and the associated pings and incomprehensible rambling that come with her obsessive game-playing and step over piles of her trash and belongings to get to the door. She pauses.
"Is dad sleeping?" she inquires, speech somewhat slurred and words oddly formed, a curse caused by autism that follows her and makes it hard for others to understand her.
Not me, though. I've been with her for fourteen years, going on fifteen. I know her s