Two sisters on the road to a happy future, but carrying the kind of baggage that upsets the mundanes…

“Get lost, creep, that’s my sister you’re screwing with.”

I hope I sounded tougher than I looked.

“Whoah, whoah, no need to git ur panties in a bunch, lil miss, just having a kindly chat with the girl! Do you two perdy thangs live round here?”

The guy reeked of beer and so did his pals. They had been eyeballing me and my sister Michelle for about an hour, as we sat in ‘The Ramblin’ Rose’, just off sunny highway 10 and the friendly town of Suwanee, on the way into Miami. I had just been to the john, and they had taken the chance to move in on her. Problem is, she doesn’t talk, hasn’t uttered a word for over 10 years now.

I risked a glance at Michelle; her steely eyes, framed by short ruddy blonde hair (natural black showing through), were piercing the guy like daggers. Fortunately, she was waiting for me to tell them to go… they would get a shit storm if Michelle did it. When she stopped speaking, she got good at more physical forms of communication, which was part of the reason they were travelling across country off the radar.

“No, we aren’t, and we don’t need company. Try some other chicks, fellas.”

“Well ain’t that a kick in the butt?” said the lead jerk. He mumbled something and swaggered back to the bar with his friends, but they kept looking back at us. Our sort attracted attention… people just knew something was wrong with you. Or right. Or something.

Michelle stroked my leg with hers under the table, and I stifled a giggle. Our eyes met and those sunken, sleep deprived, bloodshot eyes of hers made my heart melt, like they always did. Michelle looked nasty, with a nasty smile and cruel eyes. Some mistook her for a ‘goth’ because of the dark rimmed eyes and anorexic style frame. Hell, maybe she was… she wasn’t saying.

“You want to get out of here, ‘Shell? There was an Ac Dc Tavern back there, we could go crash.”

Michelle shook her head and I caught sight of the little scar on her collarbone. Still red. I wondered for a second if I had cut her too deep, but quickly dispelled the notion. Of course not, I never did, and she never cut me too hard either. It was always perfect.

After a little while we got up, and I went to pay the bill, having to endure the stares of the guys at the bar. I was underweight and frumpy, my long hair knotted in places, but guys always looked my way. To my credit, I had worked on my ass and my stomach, and the goddess had been generous with the breasts. I paid the bill with my credit card and the lead jerk from earlier saw my name on it; Britney.

Yeah, that’s right, Britney and Michelle, twin sisters. No, our parents weren’t rich, just unimaginative. They had few redeeming qualities.

“Britney, huh? You goin’ for a ride honey?” I felt my spine tingle. Anger bubbled up, coursed through my veins, my divine channels, my chi, my synapses, my corpus, my body, my temple, my heart, my FLESH…

Michelle’s hand touching my shoulder… whoah. Spaced out there for a minute. Control it, girl. I span and smiled at Michelle, putting my hand on her bare waist, the gap between her leather biker jacket and jeans. Our outfits kinda matched.

Outside, we checked over the car. It was a beast, modified for street racing. That was what awaited us in Miami- illegal, sexy, dangerous street racing. Our car was pink and black, kinda garish, but so were we. On the hood there was a decal of a huge pair of scissors. Yep, scissor sisters, you got it. No relation to the band.

“Where did ya get the cash for car like that?!” exclaimed the lead jerk who had followed up outside. In the afternoon sunlight our baby gleamed. I really, really didn’t want to answer that question, so I opened the door to get it.

He stepped up and put a strong hand on the door frame. “Don’t you wana talk to old Frank?” he managed between belches. I looked around, no cops in the lot. I glanced at Michelle and she understood my intentions intuitively.

She ran over the hood and landed on Frank’s sweaty shoulders in about three steps, while my finger curled into the ring of a pair of big hairdresser’s scissors that were tucked into my jacket lining. I pushed them against Frank’s balls while Michelle did the same for his throat. I glanced and realised she actually had three pairs of scissors pressed against him, each finger through a different ring, fanning them out. She had been practising again, which scared me and turned me on.

Yeh, you read that right. My sister. Don’t start.

“HEY hey there miss, misses, girl, ladies,” stammered Frank, completely dumbstruck. Michelle let him go and he backed away towards his friends who were too shocked to laugh at him. They had that look… the one that said ‘this was fun but now it’s scary.’ The one that people like us see shortly before the sleeping tiger gets ornery.

“Let’s just get out of here, ‘Shell-” I started, but she wasn’t listening. Shit, she was turned on too, which meant pain. She strode towards the guys, simultaneously spinning a pair of scissors on one finger and then jamming it into her wrist, causing a stream of blood to issue and drip onto the ground, turning the faces of the men white.

I felt the compulsion rise in my guts, the need to self harm identically to my sister. I could never resist it. If Michelle cut herself, I did. If I pierced my nipple, she did too. We are so in love, words just aren’t enough.

I stabbed my own wrist and headed after Michelle, hoping to stop her from using mojo on these jerks. It was too public, too close to their goal. But Michelle was hard to control; she had stopped talking for a reason, and her tongue was covered in bite marks from all the things she never said.

If you want me to continue, I gladly will. These two are NPCs i made for a street racing UA game set in miami, but I have wanted to tell their story for ages.
Thanks to google earth for the details of the bars on the route to miami! Im a brit, have to guess this stuff but I prefer to get it real.