The slamming fist is punctuated with a sharp, “No.” It might’ve been more impressive if the fistwielder hadn’t been a wisp of a woman, pale and reedy in stature.
Her adversary chuckles, settling into the wide chair, hands clasping across his generous belly. “I don’t believe you’re in the position to tell me no.”
Focusing her gaze across the table, she clears her throat. “We’ve been in negotiations for three weeks now.”
He smiles and nods.
“I come to the table each year prepared to discuss and compromise. You—” She pauses to quell her frustrations.
“I?” he interrupts. “I don’t need to compromise. I always get my way.”
“That’s not how this is supposed to work.”
He leans forward, his bulk crowding the table. “Says who?”
“Says mother.”
He makes a show of swinging his head around. “Mother? Huh. I don’t see any mother here.” She catches herself before the expletive escapes.
“What’s the magic word?” he asks, catching her off guard.
“What?”
“You know what.”
She wants to smack that smirk off his face. Gripping the armrests fiercely, she says, “Please. Please allow me to take over.”
“No.”
“Come on,” she whines. She hates it when he brings out the little sister in her. “It’s my turn.”
“It’ll be your turn when I say it’s your turn.” He stares at her. “Didn’t I give you those days in January? And again in February?”
She bobs her head, not offering eye contact.
“Don’t I always—”
“Don’t I always give you days, too? Even though I hate it. Everyone hates it. So disruptive. You have your time—”
“Which is exactly why I will not give it away.”
“You’re a bully.” She crosses her arms and stares at him petulantly. “You probably bully Autumn, too. Take his days.”
“Our brother is lazy,” he says. “He practically gives his days away.”
“Nobody likes you,” she barks, feeling desperate. “You should be relegated to mountaintops and Christmastime. Honestly, most people wouldn’t even miss you if you went away.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Maybe.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Look at the lengths to which they go to dismiss us,” she cries with exasperation. “They might question your disappearance, but they’d probably chalk it up to human debauchery. The arrogance. The disrespect! Like those puny ants could affect the universal status; could do what we do.” She points at him. “Or don’t do.”
“Are you done—”
“So eager to blame each other when it’s obviously beyond their scope of power,” she continues. “Such vanity.”
“Yet you pander to their expectations.”
“I do my job. And wonder why you do not.”
He waves a broad hand dismissively. “We’ve been doing this since the beginning of time. I’m bored. Aren’t you bored?”
She gapes.
“Don’t you ever want to have some fun? Think about the great power we wield. Why are we fighting? We should be working together.”
After a long pause, she asks, “Work together? What would that even look like?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we trade off every other lunar cycle instead of every equinox or solstice. Mix it up, Autumn comes after me. Then Summer.”
“This is bigger than just humans. The earth—”
“The earth was here long before those parasites and she will be here long after.”
“Can we kindly get back to the business at hand? Please pass control to me.”
He mouths, No.
“These petty sibling squabbles are getting out of hand.”
He sits straighter, tilts his head, and asks if she has similar issues with their sister, because he rarely experiences conflict with their brother.
She harrumphs. “Our transfer is seamless.”
He happens to know there are often battles between them. “I’m not ready.” He shrugs. “Come back next week and we’ll discuss.”
“We’re done here. It’s my turn. There are standards and we need to uphold them.”
“The more you push the longer I’ll stay. Really give people something to panic about.” He releases a guttural laugh.
With a sigh, she bends to retrieve her bag and as she rises from the table, she produces a weapon. “So be it,” she says, pulling the trigger.
The handheld laser cuts through him like lava through a snowbank. Her brother folds into a melted pile of Winter goo in a matter of seconds.
Spring eyes the weapon, nods approvingly, then tucks it back into her bag. Already, the day is warming. The people they serve may notice Winter’s absence, but she doubts they will really miss him.
Mary Lamphere is an artist, designer, and despite chronic procrastination, also a multi-published and award-winning author of poetry, short stories, novellas, and novels. She lives in DeKalb with her adoring (and adorable) husband of 38 years and her three corgis.
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