I did not sleep well that night. I don’t know if it was the excitement or the letdown of the whole situation. Or maybe something caused by the device itself, but I felt like crap this morning.

“Man, what's up with this headache? It feels like when you eat something cold fast, and you get freeze shock.”

I couldn’t think straight, so I decided to get something to eat. Maybe that would help me with my headache.

I went to get my money from my hiding place, but to my surprise, it wasn’t there. I had hidden the money on the top of my bookshelf, inside this inconspicuous vase I had picked up at a local wares store. The bookshelf itself was placed in the guestroom's study area. It was so isolated that nobody would figure I had money hidden there.

“What the hell, what happened to my money?”

I looked again and even moved the different things around the vase. I thought I might have dropped it behind the vase, but it was nowhere to be found. It was not much on anyone else eyes, only ten silver credits and about 80 copper ones, but that was a lot for me.

After the fall of the different governments and the rise of the 10-party committee hundreds of years ago, it was decided to return to using precious metals as a monetary system worldwide. That way, everything would have equal value. So, we returned to using copper, silver, gold, and platinum as currency. Except we don’t get coins, but credits, as everything is digital today.

It had taken me six months to get this money, and now it was gone. I still had to buy things I needed for school next week. It was already Saturday, and I had to hurry and buy these things to pass the test next week.

“Where the hell did my money go?” I’m still thinking about this when I catch Brandon entering the guest house from the corner of my eye.

He's got this smug face on.

“Hey, Khyrum, do you want to see what I bought with my money?”

“No, not now, Brandon,” I say, as I’m not in the mood to play his little games.

I’m thinking hard here. What the hell am I going to do if I don’t find this money? I need a digital pencil and a TG storage device, which are crucial for the upcoming exams.

I’m caught up in my thoughts when I hear laughing behind me.

“Hahaha,” Brandon is laughing hysterically.

I look at him and wonder what is wrong with him today.

Brandon pulls out this brand-new stylus pen just as I’m about to look in another room.

“I could only buy this crappy pen with the ten silver credits I found in your vase,” he says as he is holding the pen in front of me.

“What?” I scream as I turn around to look at him.

My head is about to burst from the pain and anger I’m feeling right now.

“Brandon, what did you just say?” I say, staring at him, visibly agitated.

“I said I could only buy this shitty stylus with the little money you had. I couldn’t even buy the two-sided one?” he says like everything is normal.

My eyes are itchy and watery from the pain and anger I’m feeling now. I want to stay calm, but just watching him is pissing me off; I say, “You took my money, you little shit?”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Your money?" he says mockingly, "Ha, that’s a joke. You don’t have any money, Khyrum. I’m surprised I found those credits. I wonder what other things you are hiding. I am going to tell Mom to look into this.”

“Knowing you, Khyrum, you probably stole it.”

As Brandon walks away in a triumphant pose, I can’t help but freeze in shock. Not because he stole the money but because I’m powerless in this house to stop it.

“Why? Why can't I just be left alone by this family?” I say as I feel anger and despair swell up inside me.

“What did I do wrong?” I think. I’ve lived under their rule for years; I should have known better than to hide stuff in the guesthouse. I’m a freaking idiot.

As I stood there feeling sorry for myself, I started getting dizzy in my head. My eyes go hazy as I blur out.

Suddenly, I snapped, seeing Brandon leave the guest house and laughing like a crazy person. Without knowing why, I chased after him. Once outside, I launched myself at his back and tackled him from behind.

“What are you doing, Khyrum?” he screams as he falls forward and hits his head on the ground.

I don’t say anything; all I can think of is punching his silly little head. I continued to wrap my arms around him as I lay on his back. I had never had to fight another person, so I’m new to this. Should I put him in a headlock or maybe hit him with my hand on the side of his head? Perhaps I can knee him in the back while I still have the advantage. As I thought about all of these things, I forgot one thing.

Brandon has a considerable weight advantage over me—about 40 lbs. or so. He is heavier than me due to all the food he eats whenever he wants. Using his weight advantage, he quickly gets off the ground and pushes me off his back.

Due to his head hitting the pavement after falling, he now has a considerable bump protruding from his forehead. This bump is eye-catching and makes him look more like an idiot.

He raises his hand to touch it. Feeling the bump, his face contorts to something awful.

He is seething mad now!

“Khyrum, I’m going to kill you,” he says as he is now screaming like a madman.

So much so that his eyes bulge and turn red, his breathing is fast, and he even has a little foam on the corner of his mouth. He is starting to look like a rabid dog.

“Die!” he screams as he rushes forward. He has the stylus pen in one hand. It's incredibly pointy. If he sticks me with it, it's going to hurt.

I step back, and by instinct, I remember my lessons while hunting in the jungle. I see him lunge at me with the pen in his right hand. I sidestep as he lunges forward. He swipes with his right hand but misses me; he attempts to pivot 180* to his left to try and catch my side with a spinning backhand. But I see this and land a sidekick to his side, to his rib cage, which causes him to lose balance, fall, and roll a few times before stopping.

“Brandon, are you going to give me back my money?” I now say in a serious tone while looking at him.

He gets up, but he is now more than agitated. He is foaming at the mouth and grinding his teeth. His eyes are bloodshot red, and tears keep streaming from the corners of them. He rushes forward again, but this time, he seems quicker. Or it's just me, as I have relaxed too much.

I sidestep again, thinking I could avoid him like the first time, but Brandon launches himself just as he gets in front of me. His dive catches me by surprise and he tackles me from the front. Next thing I know he is sitting on top of my stomach and starts punching me in the chest.

The punch is so heavy-handed that I lose my air instantly. I feel like I’m suffocating. Man, I want to get up and run, but Brandon is just sitting on top of me; he starts punching my chest. I'm lucky he can't hit me in the face as I’m temporarily covering it with my forearms; those punches would cause severe damage if they did.

“Brandon, get the hell of me, you fat pig,” I scream at him now in desperation.

But it's to no avail. He is locked in and is not responding. He continues to land punch after punch. After a few minutes, my chest became bruised and swollen. It feels like it's about to cave in. I don’t know how much more of this I can endure.

I tried to wiggle my way out, but it was no good. I also tried to spin him by turning to my side, but his weight advantage showed I could barely budge him. I knew I couldn't get free without some help. I looked around but saw no one wandering outside, not a servant or family member.

I made one last effort to kick Brandon off.

I raised my right foot and did an in-and-out kick. I don’t know where this kick originated, but it hit the mark. I land this perfect kick on the left side of his head.

Brandon stops punching me after the kick. I thought that he had come to his senses after getting hit on the head; he was looking at me with some really crazy eyes.

The stare was frightening. I could feel the cold sweat running down my back. Brandon rocked back and lifted both hands over his head while holding the stylus pen between his fingers.

“Is he about to stab me?” is all I can think as I see this.