I never wanted to be part of that stupid fucking band anyway. Todd, Trey, and Troy were the Bastille triplets, and they were all fuckboys in their own rights. I’m Mia, the soul female in the mix, brought in to break up monotony of testosterone induced fart jokes and sexual innuendos. Think of the single most douche-bag, immature, self-righteous prick your imagination can muster up, multiply him by three, and those are my brothers.
We suck. Even with my mystical Siren-like singing abilities, we suck. The band, entitled “Swamp Zombies” by Trey, was initially Todd’s idea. It’s a punk rock band. Or, it was a punk rock band. I’ll get to that shortly. I didn’t want any part of it but my mother was like, “Mia, play with your brothers.”
I’m nineteen-years-old. My brothers are eighteen. I feel like we’re too old to be goofing off in some nineties-style garage band.
We were rehearsing one day, and I mentioned to Troy that he needed to keep better rhythm on the drums. For someone who has played the drums since he was six, I should think that was a simple request, but he got pissed. So, my three ass-hat brothers decided to have a band meeting without me.
They all stared at me as I’d walked into the garage after they summoned me. Trey non-nonchalantly informed that I was officially “dis-banded”. I never wanted to be in that stupid band in the first place, and now they were throwing me out?! Fuck THAT! So, here’s how I killed them.
I killed Trey first for pissing me off. The other two fuck-heads had gone back inside the house already. I didn’t know how easy it would to beat my brother to death with a microphone, but it was super easy, and not all too messy, either. It was also amusing that when he’s scared, his voice gets all squeaky and high-pitched like when he was fifteen and going through puberty. I yanked the microphone from the stand and swung it by the cord like a single nun-chuck. I knocked it against his hollow head until he was on the ground in fetal position. “Take that, bitch!”
Troy was next. I found him up stairs in his bedroom. He didn’t even look up when I walked in and sat on his bed. He just stared at his stupid YouTube videos on his computer. I looked around his room for some sort of item I could brandish as a weapon. There was a baseball trophy sitting on his bookshelf, and it had been knocked down once and decapitated. He hadn’t bothered to glue the head back to the rest of the body, leaving the sharp broken edge of the neck exposed. I slid off the bed and grabbed the trophy. I crept toward Troy, still sitting at his desk with his earbuds in, and slammed the base of the trophy against his computer screen. He ripped his earbuds out and jumped up.
“What the fuck, Mia?!” He screamed. “That computer was fuckin’ expensive!”
I didn’t answer him. I simply smirked and threw his trophy out of his open, second story window. As he ran to the window to see where the trophy had landed, I tripped him. He fell out the window and landed on the trophy. I could see the jagged neck protruding through his chest.
Mom always did tell me I was her craziest kid. I hadn’t ever believed her until that day. I walked down stairs and found Todd sitting in the den, watching TV. He was the easiest to get rid of. I picked up a couch cushion and pressed it against his face until he stopped squirming. It didn’t take long either. The other two dumbasses had selfishly stolen any sense of strength from Todd while they were in the womb, so he was frail. Like, little bitch frail.
A little while later, I woke up in my bed, feeling peacefully refreshed. That is, until I heard music coming from the garage. I sprinted down stairs like they were giving away free tacos and barged into the garage. Todd, Trey, and Troy were playing their fuckboy music as usual.
“What the fuck?” I asked myself.
“Get out, Mia!” They shouted at me in unison. “You’re not part of this band anymore!”
“Fuck my life,” I whispered. I shook my head as I walked out of the garage.