<div style="text-align: center"><i>Twelve Years Ago</i>​</div><i><br/>
“Happy Birthday, Leo!” Gold and silver glazed balloons hung on shiny ribbons tied to each seat around the wooden table. Confetti had been splattered in primary hues on the crime scene of a floor, a flurry of azure-striped gift wrap crumpled in a heap beside the granite counter. Needling three of the dozens of helium delights had been about as much joy as Maximus received from the occasion; he could care less about his younger brother nor his five-year old ragamuffin friends. As the only eight-year old at the party, he had distanced himself from Leo and the majority of the neuronic death-inducing games. Yet somehow his mother had persuaded him into creating a birthday card---the present ideas he had forcibly threatened to partake in.<br/>
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Boredly observing the anticipation of his sibling ripping apart zebra-print shields with clumsy little fingers, Max yawned audibly. A cuff to the nape of his neck elicited an abrupt whine as his father whispered an admonishment into his ear. “Act nice or you will go to your room with nothing,”. Eyeing the uncut red velvet cake riddled with five golden candles and pastel blue icing, he sullenly nodded his head in submission. Coffee irises swiftly reverted to his brother once more, his own muscles stiffening and pupils dilating. Undoubtedly, Leo had been granted one of the prettiest possessions he had ever laid his sights on; a porcelain doll lie in his sticky palms. And he could see in Leo’s expression, the boy loved the masterpiece. But not as much as his older brother secretly did. <br/>
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“Happy Birthday, son! I’m handing down one of my childhood novelties to you,” Mister Paine announced this with a swell of pride, much to Max’s disapproval. Why hadn’t he been allotted the toy? He had been their first, the eldest! A mere five-year old could not value the historic belonging like he could. Fury raged in his youthful heart as his throat blossomed with heat and his fists clenched at his sides, legs awkwardly dangling over the edge of his seat. <br/>
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After three more presents and elated cheers, Missus Paine led the entourage of children to the backyard for pinata slaying. The pepperoni pizzas she had ordered had yet to arrive, hence she occupied their hunger with violence. Again, Max drifted near the patio with their German Shepard, Willow, glaring as weak limbs and blindfolded eyes blurred in his vision. Sniffling in self-pity and frustration, he rubbed his tear-brimmed eyelids and absently pet the creature nuzzling his shins for attention. And a brilliantly vengeful idea seared into his mind. Unlatching the patio entry, Max mutely swung a broad space for the puppy, allowing the animal to trot inside happily. Briefly, the entrance shut once more and Max contently wandered over to the pinata karate, seeing as the candy had flown to the grass like broken shards.<br/>
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“Who let Willow in?!” Six adolescents and one adult trailed into the dining area, a horrified grimace on his mother’s lips as she surveyed the wreckage. Vomited sunset candles and liquid crimson had erupted on the tile with the confetti. Sharp claws had also shredded the gift wrap to fine threads, littering the floor further. Posing to the side as children giggled innocently, Max simply smiled to himself. Adults rushed to cleanse the mess and shove the German Shepard into the backyard, Leo eventually releasing wailing cries as he realized what exactly had happened to his dessert.</i><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><i>Ten Years Ago</i><br/>​</div><div style="text-align: left"><i>Currently, the older brother had been invigorated with an artistic phase in his ten-year old period. His creativity pertained to defamation, destruction and drawing, particularly of Leo’s playthings. When Max sketched imaginary worlds, he typically grew exhausted and resorted to taking a break for inspiration. For his younger brother’s seventh Christmas, he had been presented with a chocolate teddy bear and the doll had temporarily been dismissed. But the Thing did not go utterly unnoticed as he sparingly entertained himself with the object.<br/>
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Bitterness had rooted in his heart over the doll, an admittedly eerie presence upon sharper inspection. The features were too real and too fragile, too human for Max’s liking. Yet the toy came in handy when he brought his fictional universes to reality, sometimes nicely and sometimes gruesomely. Thing 1 generally suffered as a casualty in his musings, whether through fake explosions which contorted limbs or through fantasized domestic situations where the doll might earn a plastic slap from a miniature Barbie. One afternoon, when he surmised his spoilt brother might never know, he scrunched the fabric hugging Thing’s torso and uncapped a thick Sharpie. In a moment of envy and selfishness, Max wrote ‘MINE’ as crisply as a prepubescent boy could. The sickening scent of chemicals caused him to cap the marker and admire his new art. Satisfied, he tugged the hem in position and continued the verbal fight with his Barbie wife.</i>​</div><br/><div style="text-align: center">Now​</div><br/><div style="text-align: left">Childhood pettiness and jealousy had long been shrouded with the fresh toils of puberty. Girlfriends, video games and studying replaced the once beloved factory-made friends of youth. For the previous three nights, he had been house-sitting for his parents since Leo had a “university visit” to attend to halfway across America. As his second to last night in the home, he had decided to view a classic film alone. Chinese had been ordered and <i>The Wizard of Oz</i> had been selected as an appropriate movie for the drizzling weather. Dorothy had only just appeared on the television of the master bedroom’s flatscreen when a raucous <i>thud</i> emanated from above.​</div><br/><div style="text-align: center">Max paused the film as brows scrunched, the patter of precipitation stifling any lesser noises. <i>Better not have another damn raccoon in the attic again.</i> Curious to investigate, he unraveled the fuzzy blanket and planted his feet on the cool panels. On his route from the bedroom to the attic, he snagged a flashlight because the wiring in the roof had never been fixed. Soles plodded to the chain hanging from the ceiling in the hall, fingers hooking around the metal and yanking. The hatch opened and a wood ladder slid into view, hands and feet doggedly climbing the splintered rungs.​</div><br/><div style="text-align: center">Clicking his tongue a few times to imitate animal chitter, the twenty-year old crawled onto the dusty floor and flicked the flash on. Max swiveled the white beam to and fro, his nose wrinkling at the dirty environment. Clearly, no one had been up here since the previous few years when raccoons had infested the cardboard boxes. Yet, an intuitive shiver itched on his limbs as he heard the ragged disturbance of something near. No, not something, but <i>someone</i>, likely hyperventilating. Or perhaps he had gone insane. “Hello?” Max shuffled deeper into the attic, accidentally stepping in a puddle of rain. “Shit,” Cursing under his breath, he cast the light over abandoned furniture and neglected treasures.​</div><br/><div style="text-align: left">He almost had missed the man, crouched uneasily between the armoire and mirror. When the brightness had hit on that area, nothing had seemed unordinary...apart from the heaving mass of skin. Jolting in his own flesh, Max reversed his footing and bumped into an antique dresser. “Who the hell---why’re you here?” Audible yet more apprehensive than angry, he maintained the light on the male. The atmosphere seemed wrong and he could sense emotions stirring within as he squinted; the man appeared familiar somehow. Shadows reflected over any visible abnormalities like stitches or markings, so he couldn’t define the unusual nature of the ‘human’ yet.​</div>