A rumble thundered from the cobblestone street out front, and the sister stopped preparing the tea and the brother stopped wiring the bomb. They peered between the boarded windows and dirty glass panes. At first, they couldn’t see anything except abandoned cars and the usual straggler until a gaggle of people wearing rags sprinted past holding crude, wooden spears, and shields. 

The sister watched, motionless, while the brother left to grab an aluminum bat covered in blood and grime. A gunshot rang. An army of men in black and white suits began to parade past their window, and the boy’s shoulders stood erect, watching the door. The sister stood still, her eyes transfixed on the men’s sunglasses. 

“The Dolos Act.” She sighed. “It’s that time of the year.” Her brother shook his head wearily and muttered a curse.

“Get back to work,” ordered the sister, her eyes still trained on outside as the brother headed back to the kitchen. Inwardly, she smiled at her authority over her brother. The role of the adult had fallen on her shoulders after the act had done away with their parents.

The men disappeared from view, a cloud of dust still billowing and the pounding of their leather-soled feet echoing through the narrow streets. The sister turned her back to prepare the tea. She set the filled teapot on the stove to boil and grabbed a packet of tea leaves from the cupboard. Her brother cupped the bat with his left arm and returned to wiring the flimsy, sticky bomb on the cutting board. He inserted a green wire into a pin, locked the timer in place, and attached an adhesive to the back. “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” came from the sister as he spun his head around to see her singing to herself as she waited for the water to boil. 

His mouth turned up a little.  

The front door window shattered. The brother grabbed the bomb, a bat, and the steaming hot kettle from the callused hands of the sister, her face blank and unmoving. Their heads snapped around as the brother crouched to the opening side of the door. He set the bomb’s timer to five seconds and tensed-up his left arm, ready to swing, his thumb on the timer button. They waited for two minutes, the ring of silence filling the air. However, nothing happened. Two minutes later, still nothing had happened. The two siblings returned to their original places, the teapot on the stove, and the unfinished bomb on the cutting board. The sister began to sing again, and this time, her brother joined her. Their collective voices carried throughout the house, and the whistle of the teapot joined the tune. 

A loud thump on the roof cut the noise short, and the roof crashed in, fragments of drywall and brick crashing to the floor, and a tiny storm of flowing black and white fell through the hole. The suited man gazed at the two siblings.

“Halt! By the Dolos Act, one of you must come with me.” The man grumbled and grinned, his mouth reaching from ear to ear. He said, “Council is hungry for blood.” 

The sister stared at the man, then grabbed the whistling teapot, swinging it against the back of the brother’s head, slamming his head onto the tiled floor with a thud. The sister reached down and took the bomb. Seeing that the timer was still set to five seconds, she stepped back, her body armed to throw, the teapot still clutched in her other hand. Drops of the boiling water slipped through the top and dripped on the unconscious boy’s face below her, sizzling on his bloodied skin and then dying away into spots of exposed flesh. The sister’s eyes pierced into his and as she watched, a glimmer of glee flickered in his pupils. A rising snicker flew out of the suited man’s mouth, transforming into a hearty guffaw within seconds. She stared at him as he bent over in a laugh that rocked his entire body. As the man finally straightened, he exclaimed between trembling lips, “Is this what you peasants now resort to? Sacrificing each other?” The girl’s face remained frozen as she nudged her brother’s limp body towards the man. He bent over in another fit of laughter, wheezing and stomping his feet. 

“You really have descended down to the depths, haven’t you?

Please tell me you didn’t just knock out your own brother.”

The suited man walked over to the boy, picking him up, slinging his body over his shoulders. “Your actions will get a nice laugh from Council. Thank you for your services.”

The suited man began to saunter over towards the front door, his slight chuckles lingered. The girl breathed a sigh of relief and was back in the kitchen. Picking up the teapot, she filled it with water and put it back on the still lit stove. She sat back against the wall and thought about how she was really going to have to prepare now for when Council came to get her. Building the bomb was usually the boy’s job. Oh well. A tinge of doubt crept into her mind as she replayed the suit’s invasion: her swinging the teapot, the hot metal smashing into the boy’s skull, his limp body slamming into the floor. She brushed it aside; there was no time for that now. She continued singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” again. The tune rang throughout the house and through the boards covering the front door window, dying away in the empty, cobblestone streets.