“Don’t tell her,” I hissed. “That won’t end well.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kirk, his eyebrows raised in amusement.
Before I could reply, my sister opened the door to the room Kirk and I had been hiding in, and her gaze began to burn a hole through my forehead. “What are you doing?” she snapped.
Her hair, normally a golden blonde, was today a shocking purple. The colour matched her face, which was full of a bulging rage on seeing Kirk burst out into uncontrollable laughter.
“Don’t tell her,” I hissed again.
“Don’t tell me what?”
I looked at Kirk, who had stopped laughing and was now grinning from ear to ear. With my eyes I pleaded with him; he looked from me to my sister with menace in his gaze.
“Did you know,” Kirk began, and before I could stuff a sock into his mouth he said, “that you look very nice today, Greta?”
She turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her and causing the rest of the room to shake.
“That went fine,” Kirk said, getting to his feet and brushing the carpet dust off his trousers. “See you later?” he said, opening the closet door and emerging into Greta’s bedroom. I guiltily followed behind, kicking the bottle of hair dye behind a pile of shoes.
Every day during February I’m going to write a piece of creative writing inspired by a prompt. The prompts have been taken from here, although I may shuffle some of the days around if I fancy.