Family is a word I like. Something about it, the way it flows Fa-mi-ly so rhythmic, 3 syllables of equal length and importance, meaningless without all three of them like the three of us.

We all had our roles, equally important, Dad would cook, I would collect cardboard, and sis would barter for rations.
Occasionally, I would find something interesting to read, but it takes a while. Out of 12,543 juice cartons, only 2,425 were interesting, unless you count mis advertising (that would be 12,498 cartons).

Sitting here in the rain, I wonder if this is divine retribution. If so, what did I do? Sure, the slums may be full of awful people taking advantage of the kindness from above, to let the world pity them, but I never did such a thing. Did sis? I heard somewhere that group punishment was a crime if not everyone was guilty. Maybe I let a crime happen, let sis or Dad do something?
I guess "Family" is still "'mily" without a "Fa."

The cardboard's nicer than you'd think. In the wet, soggy rain, some cardboard really does go a long way in keeping pants wet. Put a weight on it, and it slides around much less. I overheard that from sneaking into physics class. Coefficient of "Friction" or something. Did that professor's lisp ever go away? No time to think about that. All I have is NOW.

"Do you think we did anything wrong?" I asked my twin. She and I are inseparable due to mutual love and respect, and the fear of the outside was ever-present, dripping into our clothes, and drenching them further.
"What are you talking about?" she replied. "Of course, we didn't. The world doesn't need us to do anything wrong for us to end up here, sitting in cardboard, the only breeze we know being sheets of rain and gale."                                                                                                                 

"Honestly, you're too naive, even if you grew up here with me, even with your gift," she said, a grin forming on her face, the fuzzy outline of it visible when lightning flashed.

"Now medicine's pretty expensive 'round here, so let's not catch a cold now," she said, removing my drenched shirt and sharing her dryer, yet cold, jacket with me. I rested my chin against her cheek (she pushed it away immediately, does she hate me now?) and used my other hand to hug her.

The storm obscured our surroundings, and with no one on the streets, after the slick roads warning, we truly were in another world, a frozen desolate world insulated from the outside by a freezing storm, where yells, shouts, and screams are drowned out by the orchestra of hundreds of percussion instruments all pitter-pattering together, each raindrop inaudible but the storm deafening, where the city seems to have stopped moving.

But reality never once stops knocking, never does it stop, no matter how much you try to escape. It knocks, rap-a-rap-rap, even if it's for a little while, it never wants to let you find solace, comfort in your own shoes. After all, the world has that sort of beliefs for everyone, like the grass is greener on the other side for the modest but well-off, the go-getters of society, Existentialism for the rich, and finally aware after a lifetime of materialism, nothing mattered in the face of death and the universe, and for the poor, the downtrodden: Food and basics of living. 

"Gurgle" went Sis's stomach. I woke up from my dream of isolation and answered reality. I nudged her awake. "Hehh can't eat anymore, 'm fuuuullll," she muttered in her sleep, drooling from whatever imaginary buffet she may be having. Even though I answered reality, I guess I can let her stay dreaming. 

It's always been food that we've been fighting for. In the past, I would collect cardboard to save money to buy items no longer sold with the rations. Sis would stand in line for the rations, as she was the only one who would fight, scream, or even steal to get food on the table. After all that, Dad would cook what we got, nothing much, just three square-root meals for the three of us.

I could hunt. 

I spent a second thinking about it. Definitely no. There wouldn't be much hunting and more running. Plus, I'm in a city. Regardless of how unsanitary or dirty it is, nothing worth eating would hang around here. Then again, I did read once that cockroaches were great sources of protein, and when fried, taste like salty popcorn.

Pondering in thought, my eyes looked toward my sister. That's right. I couldn't feed her cockroaches, much less any creepy-crawly. The only crustacean I want her to eat is lobster! We're nowhere close to the ocean. Feeling dejected, after all, we live in a society where I can't feed my sister lobster. I crossed out lobster from my imaginary list,  "Things I Can Feed My Sister," and instead on to the list "Things I Want to Feed My Sister" (TIWFMS for short, doesn't roll off the tongue enough. I know, how about IWFS, I Want Feed Sister, the charity organization which gives to sisters worldwide!).
Hmm. HMMMM. Oh, wait. We live in a society.
I know. We'll go up to a doorstep soaked in rain and ring the bell. A couple opens the door and sees two kids of the same age huddling for warmth, sharing a tattered jacket, a cute and heartbreaking sight. We'll get adoption papers signed, stay for their marriage, watch them brag about my memory and my sister's people skills, and-

"Oy, what 'chu so happy about, you content in sitting in a cardboard box hugging your little sister?" she teased, now awake after watching me gaze into my imagination, poking me with her elbow. "Or are you thinking about some girl you saw in a beer commercial?"
I shrug off my optimistic dreams and look at the sunshine glowing into the street, the storm stopping, yet the concrete remaining slick.
"Mission failed. We'll get them next time," I said, dreams shattered once again. "Onwards to plan IWFS!"

"What does that mean?" she asked, puzzled.
"It's short for something I want to do with you!" I exclaimed.
"IWFS, I want to my sister, fly, feather, flip?" she muttered.
"F F F words, wait ef??" she exclaimed. "You want to do that sort of thing with me?"
"Doesn't anyone who has a little sister, especially one as cute as you, want to do that?" I responded in a matter-of-fact accent.
"Really? Right now, I'm, I'm not ready for that sort of thing," she claimed.
"Don't be modest now. I heard your body ask for it. Do you want it now?" I asked assertively.
"Don't be absurd. I-I-would never ask for such a thing and we are- we are family you know" she responded bashfully.
"We only have each other, you can ask your older brother for anything" I announced reaching in for a hug,

I then whisper into her ear "Wanna have it here?"
"F-Fine" She stuttered "But I'm not prepared, I think I need more time, you know"
"Well I'm glad you can hold on for longer, but first we must find food" I explain.
"Of course," she says apparently still flustered from waking up, does she have a cold "Food comes f-first"

"Do you have a cold, because you seem to be quite flush" I ask.
"What does that mean," She asks finally looking me in the eye.
"It means that your face is flooded with blood, which could be an indicator of illness or sudden stress"
I explain, I put my palm on her forehead as I tell her
"indicated by the face turning red"

Her eyes dart away from sudden surprise as though she learned something monumental, life-changing, I must have really explained it well, what an amazing brother I am to her! Her face went red again tho?
"Honestly don't do stuff like that" she pleaded, to my horror, my little sister who would ask me so many questions just asked me to never explain anything to her!! (Does she hate me??!)

"I trust you a lot so, please keep it to a minimum"
Oh, she just didn't want inaccurate info.
"But your face really was red" I mention "You sure?"
"It's YOUR fault" She shouts, pouting at me. (The information surge caused by my explanation must have caused her brain to consume more calories, requiring more blood to function)
"Oy aren't you being unfair? Don't hate me now!!" I plead.
This is how our story begins, in a cardboard box house, with nowhere to call home and nothing on the TIWFMS.