My preschool molars mowed through the apple’s delicate red skin, greedily devouring the ripe, juicy fruit that the skin blanketed. My immature dentures pulverized the moist fruit’s flesh, and I savored every morsel of the crumbling fruit. The juices saturated every aspect of my mouth’s senses, and the promise of more euphoric flavor lay in my frail preschool hands. The apple was enormous compared to my three-foot frame and I struggled to contain its tantalizing promise in both hands.

“Bill… can I have some?...”

I looked down to see my younger sister, her eyes pleading for a sliver of the sugar-packed delicacy that lay in my hands.

“Nuh-uh.”

My words shot through my sister, tearing through her infantile figure. But she was determined. She inhaled despondently, gathered the torn remnants of her pride, and attempted to reach my humanity.

“But… sharing is caring…”

“Meg, you have to sleep soon. It’s not good to eat before you sleep, you know.” I responded curtly, turning my back to her.

My sister stood there, dumbfounded by the abruptness and cruelty of my response; her mind was shocked into a short circuit by my avarice. With all other options now lost, my sister resorted to the most primitive of human reactions. She screeched and lunged desperately for the apple. My apple. 

My response was just as primal. I shot up from the couch and dashed towards the door, making a great escape. Unfortunately, the local authorities (my mom),  had witnessed the entire episode (and even caught it on camera). She finally decided that enough was enough, and brought me back to face justice.

Prove that ΔLAN is congruent to ΔSOP using twelve steps or less and without using CPCTC.

Well, that should be easy enough… 

“IT’S NOT YOURS-”

“YES IT IS-”

I sighed and let my pen drop. My youngest two sisters had been fighting all week, and after unsuccessfully attempting to quell their quarrels earlier that afternoon, I’d given up and simply strained to block out their elementary school war with noise-canceling headphones.

“GIVE IT- HEY! STOP-”

I turned up Carnival of the Animals, picked up my pen, and turned my attention back to my math homework. I’ve been using classical music and movie soundtracks to drown out my siblings; you’d think as the eldest of five, I’d have evolved the ability to tune out background noise.

Alright, so if ΔSOP is right, then ΔLAN can’t be,-

“I’M USING IT-”

“I JUST NEED IT FOR ONE SECOND! I JUST WANT TO DRAW A LINE!”

I sighed again. There was no way I could ignore this argument much longer. No one else was at home, and Sarah and Angie’s conflict resolution skills were evidently still immature.

I rose from my desk and went over to their room, my annoyance slowly bubbling over into frustration with each scream that erupted from their room.

“What are you guys doing?? How have you guys been fighting all the time? Can you just please stop for like-one afternoon?? I’m trying to-”

And then suddenly, as my eyes drifted over to and locked on those of Sarah, my youngest sister, I was suddenly transported back a decade, seeing myself at her precarious age. She was turned away from Angie, and Sarah’s hands were brought into her chest, protectively clutching a red marker.

“What are you guys even fighting about?”

“Sarah won’t let me use her marker and she’s been carrying it around all day! She’s not even using it!”

“I just need… to use it… for something later!”

I sighed and looked away from the two, poorly concealing a grin. In the eleven years since the now infamous “Apple Fight” (my mom’s video of the whole argument has turned into a yearly screening. Truly prime comedic cinema.), I’ve slowly matured enough to accept that most arguments are not worth having. As the oldest of five, I’ve seen (and partaken of) many stubborn arguments only to eventually draw this conclusion, and as such, I’ve grown to try to avoid meaningless conflicts. I was sure that my two younger siblings would eventually succumb to the same lessons I did, but until then, there was little I could do but wait for them to grow sick of these, well, childish disputes. I knew that there was little I could say beyond chastising Sarah for hogging her markers; time and experience would be their best teacher.

“Ok. Here, c’mere Angie, I think there’s a few more red markers in the kitchen…”