Mira and Her Brother Thomas

 Mira and Thomas were twins. Born a minute and a half from each other, the two carried identical features. They both had deep brown eyes, sharp facial structures and hazel hair. They both had sharp eyebrows and attractive smiles. Neither carried their mother's curse, possessing slender bodies with minimal effort. Standing side by side they were exact mirrors had Mira not developed curvy thighs and budding breasts. If she were to cut her hair short or if Thomas were to grow his long, from behind only Mira's feminine rear would give her away.

Cut of the same wood.

Unfortunate for the siblings, their blessed miracle was a hex on their mother's life. Upon learning that there was not one but two children, their father left. Gone with no word on his whereabouts. This did not sit well with their mother, whose body became damaged by the difficult birth of her children. Rendered weak and broken, their mother suffered from aches of the bones, a shattered pelvis and a weight problem she would never recover from. Mira and Thomas were forced to live according to the disabilities of their mother, remaining recluse as she grew larger and larger with each passing year.

Mira and Thomas grew up together. They were best friends. They were their only friends. What little the government supplied as financial aid was what they lived on. Their clothes were second hand and the food was meagre. Their mother was teacher, priest and mentor. They knew little of the outside world, the television their only window of escape.

Their mother's name was Kathy and within years from having her children she ballooned to mass proportions. Morbidly obese, Kathy grew to a weight of over four hundred pounds. Fat rolls morphed what had long before been an attractive figure. She couldn't help it. The dozen years after the labour was spent from a bed placed in the middle of the living room floor. She could not get up and she could not fend for herself. Most importantly, she could not satisfy her hunger. Kathy relied greatly on her children, having raised them by herself. She had trained them and conditioned them. Mira and her brother Thomas were her slaves, her aids and her tools. With them she continued to live.

Mira and Thomas, their relationship became focused entirely on themselves. When they had reached the youthful ages of twelve, theirs was already a life of hardship and ridicule. The trips to the grocer was one of humility and shame. People starred and whispered, talking of the twins raised to take care of their fat mother. Such ventures outside became painful for the siblings, forced to march the gauntlet of mockery and snide from their peers. So it was that Mira and Thomas travelled little, a daily trip to the mailbox, to the store, and back home. Their life existed only in their room, up within the attic of the house.

Their house was unclean. Filth and garbage piled up with dishes in constant need of scrubbing. These twins grew up in an environment unhealthy for such innocence.

Innocence they were not for the pathologies stewing inside their young minds warped to adapt, to survive in the life they had not chosen.

Adapt they did, for in each other they found the comfort they needed. Mira and Thomas. Identical twins with only each other to hold on to. When Mira began to bleed regularly and when Thomas awoke wet from perverse dreams, it was in each other they found freedom.

It was but a matter of time when the oppression of their unwanted life would grow. They became older, stronger and wiser. When Mira and Thomas were thirteen, the money stopped. They would need to be independent. They would need to survive.

They needed to break away from Kathy, their mother.

Forever.

Possessions were but fantasies for Mira and Thomas. Their attic room was not much more than a small mattress on the floor, laboured by unfolded sheets and two pillows. Posters torn from magazines hung crooked on the walls, of horror movies and fictional monsters. An old radio taken from the living room provided static-drenched music from a local metal station. Their clothes lay in forgotten piles, growing and torn through each day. The ceiling was stained with watermarks and the window was dark with dust. The curtains eaten by moths. The floor boards creaked and when Kathy would watch the infomercials at two in the morning the sound rose through clearly.

It had once been their mother's room but now it was theirs. The belongings Kathy had owned, the size six pants and sexy slips, they were all sold for food. Only a few articles remained. Family photos and memories were all stored within the basement.

This was Mira and Thomas's domain.

It was afternoon and their radio was on, blaring loudly to silence the cries. Kathy was below, in the living room, grossly unaware as she watched a talk show that above her, her children committed the sins of loneliness. Of confinement.

Over the deep drums of rock, Mira was on her knees, dressed in one of Kathy's old nightgowns, a purple teddy that hung loose on Mira's small frame. Her growing breasts visible as the front tapered low. Her hand pulling slowly as Thomas lain back, watching, nude. His member in Mira's hand.

"Mira!"

Kathy's cries carried up the steps, through the floorboards. They were muffled by the radio.

"I'm hungry." Mira moaned, both wantonly and honestly, glaring at her brother.

Thomas propped himself on elbows. "Don't talk." he grunted.

She grinned.

"Mira! Thomas!"

They could hear the second calling, their mother's grating high pitched voice threatening to drown the music. Drown the seconds before Thomas would come.

He rose himself on one hand and grabbed a fistful of Mira's hair. He pulled and she flinched. "Ignore her." He gasped. "Ignore the bitch."

"The cunt." Mira smirked, head forced to tilt towards his him.

"Mira! Thomas! Get down here now!"

And then the inevitable thump. The broom handle an extension of Kathy's arm, reaching up and pounding the ceiling. Pounding underneath the floor of their attic room. Directly underneath their mattress.

With a sigh, Mira slowed to a halt, holding Thomas's softening and distracted dick. "She won't stop."

"She never stops." He replied, taking hold of her hand and urging her to continue. His penis, however, lost its strength.

Mira shook her head. "No. She's hungry."

"She's always hungry." He said in frustration, still forcing her hand. "She eats and eats and it will never stop."

Mira pulled her hand away, leaving him unsatisfied and incomplete. Sighing, Thomas pushed himself up and sat on the edge of their bed, listening.

The pounding came. “Mira! Thomas! Come down here! Now!”

He looked at his sister, sweat beading his brow, his foreskin sheathing the unfinished tool. “We have no food.”

Mira sat back, wiping a sticky palm across the hem of her mother's night gown. “We'll just have to go buy some.”

“We have no money.”

His sister frowned thoughtfully. Her own stomach growled. “The bitch eats away what little we have.”

“We won't be getting anymore checks. There is no savings.” Thomas rose, walking towards his jeans so carelessly tossed aside. Mira watched him as he pulled them on.

“I'm not whoring myself.” She said.

Thomas glanced at her. “I know.”

“Did you find a job?”

“I'm too young.” He explained, walking over to the radio and turning it off. “They want me to go back and apply when I'm fourteen.”

“We'll starve before we reach that.”

Thomas didn't have a reply.

Without the music, their mother's voice was even louder. “Thomas! Mira! Mira! Thomas! Now!”

He glanced down at the precum stains on his mother's slip. Mira's gown. “You can't be wearing that when you come down.”

She rose off sore knees and raised the slip over her head, her young body bare. Tossing it aside onto the mattress for later, she was grabbing a brassier when Thomas opened the door to their sanctuary.

“What were you two doing up there?”

Their whale of a mother was forever propped against the living room wall. She sat that way. She ate that way. She slept that way. Every day, a constant blob sunk into the crushed springs of a mattress. Hair long and stringy, coated with the sweat of fat. Chins tripled, quadrupled beyond proportions. Arms as large around as tree trunks. In a constant state of nudity, no clothes fitting her. Massive breasts sitting on folds of her stomach, nipples stretched to serving platters. Thighs so overgrown they stuck together, flattened with weight. Her pubis lost underneath the layers of flesh. Feet but extensions to her legs, the ankles molded with the calves.

Her flesh reeked of sweat, layers brought on with sloth. The stench of her cunt blended with the foul puddle of liquified shit long seeped from her swollen anus. A bedpan was placed underneath the mattress, a makeshift hole cut for her rear. It was long ignored. Kathy, once beautiful and young, was a beast stewing in her excrement.

Mira, dressed in her jeans and an old shirt, folded her arms in disgust and glared at her mother. “I was giving Thomas a hand job.”

Kathy, her head the only moveable muscle in her body, shook waves of anger through her folds. “Don't even joke like that, Mira!”

“We were listening to the radio.” Thomas quickly interjected, wearing a wrinkled black dress shirt. “Just reading some magazines and listening to the radio.”

Mira continued to glare at her mother.

“It was too loud.” Kathy said. “What if I needed something? What if I was hurt or in trouble?”

“What, like tripping on the way to the bathroom?” Mira scoffed sarcastically.

Her mother flared furiously. “You watched your mouth when you talk to your mother, you little whore!”

Angered, Mira unfolded her arms and stepped forward. “If I'm a whore it's only to keep your fat ass fed!” She hissed.

Thomas pulled his sister back by the arm. “Enough, you guys.” There was little emotion in his diplomatic command. “Mother, you needed something.”

Kathy's eyes burned with hatred, staring at her daughter. “You ungrateful bitch,” she hissed, “if you had never been born-”

“If I had never been born you would have been dead a long time ago, you cow!” Mira challenged, resisting Thomas's hold.

He then raised his voice. “Enough!”

Both girls, slender daughter and massive mother, exchanged deadly stares in silence.

“You needed something, mother.”

Kathy hesitated, glaring daggers at Mira for seconds before turning her overgrown head to her son. Her face did not soften.

“I'm hungry.”

“You're always hungry-” Mira began sharply.

Thomas pulled her back. “We have no money at the moment, mother.”

“Then make me some beans.” She replied stubbornly.

“We've eaten them all.” He explained simply. Mira avoided correcting him, to mention that their mother ate them all.

Worry beat the anger from Kathy's face. Her eyes shot between the twin quickly, disbelieving. “What about the checks? The government-”

“We've told you, mother.” Thomas said soothingly. “They've stopped sending them when we turned thirteen.”

The look on Kathy's face both saddened and infuriated Mira. “But we need to eat!” Their mother said stubbornly. “I need to eat!”

“We can work something out.” Thomas explained softly. “We can sell something-”

“Not my T.V.!” Kathy exclaimed in a panic. Mira's frown deepened in rage.

“No, not the television.” Thomas shook his head. “Something else, I'm sure. We have a few things-”

Kathy's excitement sparked with an idea. “The radio! You can sell the radio! And when you find a job you can get a better one!”

Both Mira and Thomas's heart sank. Neither showed it. “We could do that-”

“Go!” Kathy exclaimed quickly, almost pulling her back from the mattress as she raised an arm at her son. “Go! Get money! Feed me!”

Thomas wasn't ready to sell their only possession. Neither was Mira.

“Mother.” he said.

“Go! Get money! Feed me!” The strain of her efforts tired her out. Kathy rolled back into position, sweating profusely. Still, she closed her eyes and began to shout. “Go! Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”

As the twins climbed the steps to the attic, Kathy's chanting had grown zealously, a pounding of excitement.

“Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”

In their attic, one of the floor boards rose easily. Underneath it was a shoebox and in it was 37.25$.

“This won't be enough.” Thomas said, counting out the bills and change. He was kneeling over the box with Mira standing behind him.

“That fucking bitch will eat us out of this house.” Mira hissed. Though the radio had been turned back on, her hate carried loudly.

Thomas rose and walked over to the radio. “We sell this today and tomorrow she will still be hungry.”

“I'm still hungry.” She said, walking up behind him. Her hands snaked around over his groin. “We're still hungry. No matter what we do now, she will always be hungry.”

Thomas stared at the radio silently, swimming with thoughts of helplessness. “That's how it's always been.”

Her hand slipped down the front of his jeans. “And how it will always be, Thomas.” She leaned in and bit his ear. He was unreceptive. “That's how it will be until she either dies of a fat-induced heart attack or...” Her voice trailed off.

He turned around, forcing Mira to remove her hand. Thomas faced his sister with a thoughtful frown. “Or what?”

Mira grinned, though darkness clouded her eyes. “Remember our twelfth birthday? When you and I discussed our wishes?”

His brow lowered musingly, drawing the curtains of memory. “Of course I do, but we were just daydreaming. Joking.”

She stepped in, pressing her body close. His hands came around and held the firm cheeks of her rear. Her face was pale and sunken from hunger. They both were.

“Were we, Thomas?” She whispered. Tilting her head, Mira's tongue brushed his lips. “Were we really?”

He was quiet, staring into her eyes. Looking for the seriousness, the intent. The fact over fiction.

“What you're saying we do-” He began.

She pushed her groin against the growing bulge of his pants. Her gasp floated like words over the dimness of their room. “Would set us free.”

Their lips locked and tongues twisted. Thomas pulled her against him, parting her ass within the jeans. Her hands cupped his head as they kissed, grinding her breasts against his chest.

When they parted, there was a fire glowing from her face. “We would no longer need to worry, Thomas. Think about it!”

He stared quietly at her, not saying a word. No more an action than his hand pushing down on her shoulder, urging her to lower. The devil's smirk on her lips, Mira descended into a crouch before him, hands unzipping his pants.

“We would never fear, never struggle again.” She said, her voice a song rising to his watchful stare. “We would never have to be slaves to anyone but ourselves again.”

The idea, the implications of such madness, began to seed within Thomas's mind. “We would be free.” Was all he muttered.

Her mouth enveloped him and sucked with the hunger of her stomach.

“We could get away from here, far away. We could roam the cities, the province.” He gasped, taking her in, staring at her with fever. His fingers trapped in Mira's hair, her pulled at her with each thrust of his hips. The moment was driven with their dire plan. With a harsh grunt, he came, feeding her. She swallowed before pulling away with a harsh gasp.

“We could go anywhere!” She exclaimed with a cough, wiping the back of her hand across moist lips. “You and me, until the day we die! Free off that fat cunt!”

Spurred with new energy, Thomas grabbed his sister underneath the arms and raised her. “We could be anyone we want, unrestrained! No longer children to her!”

“Yes!”

He wrapped an arm under her legs and cradled her, kissing her lips, taking in the taste of his own flesh. Thomas took her over to the mattress and tossed her down. She was unbuttoning her pants and lowering them over her thighs as he knelt before her.

“Then let's do it!” He exclaimed savagely.

“Yes!”

“Let's rid us of that bitch and live as we should!”

“Yes!”

He grabbed her jeans and tore them from her legs. Tossing them aside, he forcibly parted her knees, opening her thighs wide. A fury glowed from Thomas as he lowered his head between them.

Mira gasped and rolled her eyes. She sighed.

“Tonight, our mother will die!”

Kathy awoke from the queerest of dreams. The grogginess of sleep hovered like a bad cold, webs over her mind.

“Wha?” She mumbled. The sweet smell of meats floated in the air.

Mira shushed her softly. “Wake up, mother.” She said gently. “Wake up.”

A warm metal spoon touched Kathy's sausage lips and she licked hungrily, the strong scent assaulting her nose. Greedily she suckled, taking in the spoon and tasting the flavorful broth and chucks of beef.

“There you go.” Mira cooed. “That's better, right?”

Kathy struggled to open her eyes, swallowing the hot food. The room was dim, a faint bulb the halo to her daughter's form. “Mira...” She said brokenly. She was so exhausted. “Mira, my daughter, I'm sorry.”

“Hush, mother.” Mira said, stroking a fat jowl. “Eat. You're tired.”

She struggled to awaken. “Mira, I'm sorry.” She said. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call you a whore. I love you. I love you both. If your father had-”

Thomas's voice carried from beyond, from the kitchen, from eternity. “Is she up?”

“She is.” Mira replied back, the shadow of her head turned towards him. “Mother is awake.”

“My child.” Kathy struggled to raise an arm but found it heavier than lead. An ache pulsed in her lower spine. “Mira, I'm sore.”

Her daughter looked down at her, the light behind her growing. The room coming into focus. “I know, mother.” She smiled kindly. “I know. It hurts.”

Slowly the light grew, illuminating the living room. With it came a sharp pain in her rear. “My ass.” Kathy grunted, straining in pain. “My butt hurts.”

Mira shushed her again, putting a finger on Kathy's lips. “Don't strain. You'll only hurt yourself.”

An unexplained panic was growing within the buried gruel of her heart. “Where's Thomas? Where's my son?”

Turning her head, she found him entering the room, a bowl and spoon in hand. He passed it to Mira.

“You found food.” Kathy smiled, sweating. The webs of sleep were stubborn. “You found a way.”

Thomas was but a haze, an apparition of himself. “Yes, mother.” His voice carried no emotion. “We found a way.”

Something in his tone sparked the fear in her mind, the tremor of worry. Something was off. He spoke so expressionlessly. Cold.

Cruel.

She struggled to speak. Something was off. There was a sharp pain in her right hip. “What happened?” She said. The light got even brighter. The world with all her harshness came into focus.

Kathy frowned. Mira was wearing makeup. Maybe. Thomas in the apron. Likely.

“What...” She paused, flinching in pain. Then agony. “What happened? What did you do?”

Mira brought the spoon to her lips again and she swallowed chunks down. “What we should have done a long time ago.”

Both of her children stared at her silently. Their eyes hurt more than anything in world. And flames. Her hip was on fire. Struggling to lift her own weight, Kathy pulled herself up. No effort could raise her. Panic. She fell back, unable to breath. Gasping, her heart pounding wildly.

“What have you children done?”

The shroud lifted from her, the world coming crystal clear. A pulse in her ears matched that in her lower torso. Mira's makeup, a red paint.

Blood.

She was coated with it. Thomas's apron, the badge of a slaughter house. Soaked with corn-syrup violence. Both of her thirteen year old children, bathed in gore.

Mira's grin lacked warmth. Only madness. She reached down and Kathy struggled to see, to witness. Her daughter lifted an object in her hand, bringing it close to her blood splattered face.

Kathy's right foot.

The horror caught in her throat and the pain grew.

“What... what is that? What have you done?” Her pitch rose, tinged with agony. The phantom in her hips grew into an inferno. “What have you done?”

“You wanted to eat, mother.” Mira's grin faded, replaced with hate absolute. She rose and began crawling onto the mattress, onto Kathy. In her hand, the severed foot was pale and cold. The blood thick at the cut. The toes flexed stiff.

“You cut off my leg!” Kathy grunted, vainly attempting to move. The suffering had grown. She was in pain. Paralysed and incapable of fight. Her own weight held her down.

Her daughter crawled onward, mounting Kathy's massive form until she was looking down on the woman who had given her birth. Thomas stepped in, holding a ladle in his hand. Chucks sat soaked with broth.

“Stay away from me!” Their mother gasped, dizzy with faint. The belief that her own children could do this, cut off her leg...

Mira took the spoon from Thomas. With a hand, she pinched Kathy's lips open and poured the stew into her mouth. Her mother sputtered, eyes rolling as sickness boiled in her massive stomach.

“Eat, you fat cow!” The girl screamed fiercely, spitting on Kathy's face. “Eat! It's all you do! Eat!”

Kathy shook her head, pulling away from the food. A strike of the ladle to the nose stunned her. A second, a third. Her nose popped from within, a bubble of blood bursting out. Mira continued, shouting.

“Fuck you! Eat! Eat!”

The darkness was returning, the gore on Mira's face changing back into paint. Into makeup. A humming sound came to her ears, intensifying with each blow to her face. The loss of blood made her weak and tired. She wanted to sleep but it could not break through the abuse.

Distantly, Thomas's voice came. “Kill her. Kill the bitch. Kill our mother.”

A piercing puncture in her fleshy throat, cold as electric ice.

Mira's voice cackled savagely. “Her neck's so thick! The knife barely cuts through!”

“Here,” Thomas's tone carried excitement, “let me try!”

The weights on her stomach, on the gut that carried her leg, moved. Kathy was numb to it, numb to her surroundings. The world was fading, closing like a door on life. Shaking her head, she widened her eyes, begging for light. Thomas hovered over her, a long kitchen knife in his hand. Waving it in her face. The taste of copper on her tongue. A choking fluid in her gullet.

The pain returned, the laughter of her children the last sound she would hear.

The dawn rose slowly over the city. On the porch, two siblings stood, identical in shadows.

Thomas turned to his sister and smiled. She returned the gesture and took his hand. He leaned in and kissed.

When they parted, Mira faced the world ahead and sighed.

“Let's go find us something to eat.” She said.

Thomas grinned. Together, they climbed down the porch of their home and walked away.

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