The Sibling Contract (276 words)
1. This sibling covenant binds Jacob Aaron Miller and Melissa Farrah Miller, hence forth referred to as “the parties.”
2. Definitions:
2a. Domicile – defined space as determined by walls and rugs.
2b. Personal Belongings – items designated by the presiding authorities to belong to a party.
2c. Presiding Authority – parents, grandparents, and babysitters of the parties
2d. Stretch –elapsed time in succession/uninterrupted
2e. Touch – To come in contact with directly or through an extension of direct contact (stick, bag, etc.)
3. Each party shall not enter the other’s domicile without express permission from the other party.
4. Personal belongings outside of a party’s domicile shall not be touched by the other party, except under the follow circumstances:
4a. Express request from the original possessive party.
4b. Express request from the presiding authority.
5. Items that are prohibited to be personal belongings, as mentioned in paragraph 4:
5a. Freestanding money not verbally claimed AND witnessed by the other party or a presiding authority, as it was set down.
5b. Food and drink in the pantry, cupboard, refrigerator, or freezer.
6. Front Seat Privilege: Determined by coin flip prior to entering the car. The parties will designate who is heads (H) and tails (T) next to their signature.
7. Chores shall not be traded or paid for without final say from the parental presiding authorities.
8. Bathroom Time:
8a. Thirty minutes per party in one stretch. Minimum 30 minutes between stretches.
Amendment 1 – 7a.1: Illness as confirmed by presiding authority overrides this rule.
8b. With an open door, parties share bathroom.
9. By signing below, the parties agree to the above.
Jacob Aaron Miller (T) Melissa Farrah Miller (H)
Fulfilling my Mother's Promise (298 words)
“You must follow the rules to be the supreme wife for your husband.”
My mother repeated those words, amongst others, my entire life.
Don’t talk to an adult unless you’re spoken to first.
Don’t interrupt.
Sit up straight.
Dress appropriately.
Pray each day and night.
Everything had rules, from what I read and how I ate, to who could see my eyes.
Not that I could reprimand anyone who looked at me.
Power was for the men.
But, Mother had power, more than all the other women combined, in fact.
Behind closed doors, Father listened to her.
That is what twenty-two years of marriage does. It upends hierarchy, in private.
Today, I turn twenty. The same age my mother was when she got married.
Tonight, I am to be married. I haven’t met him yet. A negotiation between families was the only requirement for nuptials.
As I get ready, I imagine my future husband: taller than me, well-off family with enough to make me his, never labored–thus scrawny.
My black lace dress hangs off my shoulders while the skirt prevents anyone coming closer than arms reach.
Mother and Father wear all black as well, but Mother’s dress sparkles in the candlelight. Sparks dashed across the satin.
“Your betrothed prefers fire light over electricity,” she says.
My tri-layered black veil covers my face, directing my eyes to the floor. Not that I’d look up before my veil is lifted; I’m devout.
My eyes remain downcast at the altar.
Animals are nearby. I hear their growls behind me and to the right. At times, I even see a hoof or two near the offering table.
When my veil lifts for our kiss, I raise my head to my husband’s horns and devilish smile.
I must be a consummate wife.
Covenant of Childhood (300 words)
A promise can connect life or slice a soul.
Mom promised to be there for me, and she was. At every recital, every band practice, and her funeral. I was only ten.
I promised to be there for my father that day. Keeping house and caring for my siblings.
No more recitals; My clarinet stayed clean in its case. The layer of dust betrayed how long since I had played.
Babysitting money helped; the neighbors’ kids came every day after school.
My promise held our family together.
Until I was sixteen, when my father made a vow to another.
A part of me splintered.
How dare he decide someone join us?!
No input. No thanks.
I gritted my grin through every dinner, every bonding day.
I counted down to eighteen…
Then I heard her oath, to us, not him, during the ceremony.
To care for us, to catch us when we fall and to follow us when we walked away. To have an open door, mind, and heart. A teacher, when we wanted to learn; an ear when we needed to be heard, or a voice if we couldn’t find our own.
And the split that nearly broke me began to mend.
I saw her: my mother’s kindred spirit. I realized I had been wearing my mother’s shoes, the backs never touching my ankles. And now, those shoes are full again.
Mom tried to protect me from it, as her doppelganger will do for my siblings.
But, as for my soul, it’s too late. I lost my identity and childhood when I lost my mom and made a promise to take care of my family. That promise had spliced the earliest covenant.
Preserving the covenant of childhood is the responsibility of the adult. It should never have been on me.