felix aiolos . d1 . fin

My family are glass half full kind of people. The first time I ever got on a unicycle I ended up breaking my older sister's leg, giving my grandpa a heart attack, and costing them a fortune in dental repair. While I was crying over my sister's broken leg with my front teeth in my hand begging to be given up for adoption for being such a terrible son, all they could do was pull droplets of happy tears through my curls. They got me a unicycle for my next birthday—"My sweet Felixir, chin up- everything turned out alright." And it was. Everything was alright.

My sister owns a restaurant now—well, co-owns with baby Greg and our oldest brother, Robin. They put on a rollerskating performance every time they serve dinner, crazy stunts and fun gimmicks is sorta their thing. Though I always make sure to joke that it's because young, attractive, charismatic twins on skates who serve you delicious food on silver platters has probably got to be the easiest thing to sell in the whole world.

My grandpa is still dead. Not because of the heart attack, but because of the being really old and alcoholism. I miss him, but he lived a full life that he had no regrets about in the end. Plus Dad has started telling all the same terrible jokes he used to tell and Penny hasn't been able to put a toolbox down since he'd shown her the classic car he'd restored. Little pieces of him were sprinkled everywhere. Metaphorically and literally, since he was cremated and we spread his ashes across the estate.

And then there's me—got a lovely, bright, dimply smile to match the rest of the family and a knack for acrobatics. I pretty much make the other Careers look like confused toddlers who've only just learned how to walk. Or I could. But I don't, not most of the time. I'm not really the Career type. My family isn't really the Career type, even if our name is on the donors list of a training center or fancy, distant, boarding school. But they do believe that other talents and interests can flourish within the right spaces. Glass half full kind of people.

I've got eleven siblings—six sisters, five brothers- seven older, four younger—and we all tend toward the dazzling, the dreamy, and the far-fetched. Our dreams were spun from cotton candy, the pastel pinks and blues that I'd enjoyed so much as a kid now rotting my brain until all that it hadn't eaten away was a single thought. I've tried not to linger on it too long, but it feels like there's a hole in my skull letting the rot bleed through into my thoughts and words, seeping into everything I do.

I just can't help but wonder if that glass half-full feels as empty as I do.

"Pretty darn emo, right?"

The sun sits high in the sky, golden rays washing over my shoulders as I turn to squint at Niko with a widening grin. He laughs and rolls his eyes—"Dude, shut up."—lashing out with a well-timed thrust of a fist. Credit where credit is due, the little shit nearly clocks me in the jaw with enough force to leave me concussed for a week. But I've got two years on him. I manage to string a scuffed back walkover with a handstand as he slips and ungracefully latches onto the beam with a yelp.

I'm showing off now as I twirl on one hand, blood rushing to my cheeks. "You look like a sloth," I grunt, my vocal cords and lungs protesting against speaking while upside down. He pokes his head out from beneath the beam with a poorly hidden smile on his face. "And you look like a broken limbed, twig ass starfish," he drops to the mat, laughing when he gets there, final insult spluttering in a fit of laughter.

"Fucker."

"Pussy."

And I'm laughing, too—guess everything is alright.