I

She picked up the gun. It was impressively deadly-looking.
"Do you have it in pink? I like pink, you know."
"Pink guns? Ha Ha Ha! Pink guns! Now lady, do you want it or not?"
She sighed. All toyshops were the same. Black, dangerous guns for boys and and pink, vulnerable dolls for girls. No pink guns.

She flung the parcel at Vishal. He caught it neatly, ripped open the packaging, and the expectant smile fell off.
"Heyyyyy! This is a Terminator 2. I have a Terminator 2. I want a Terminator 3. Go exchange it right now."
"Boil it in engine-oil. It will become what you want it to."
"You go and boil your head. It will become better!"
"Oh go and boil your head yourself!"
"Mom!"

It always ended in his victory. Jyoti knew her mother's monologue by heart. You know you are thalassaemic, Jyoti. You know Vishal was born just for you, Jyoti. You know you wouldn't have survived so long had it not been for the marrow transplant from him, Jyoti. You need him more than he needs you, you know that, Jyoti. This blah, Jyoti. That blah, Jyoti...

It left Vishal the undisputed tantrum king. His every demand was to be fulfilled. Because he had made such a sacrifice. She pitied him - he was just a source of spare parts for her. He had no existence of his own. She was the real darling of the family. She merely had to speak softly, and her most outlandish wish would be met immediately. Vishal had to put in a lot of hard work throwing a tantrum, and made himself look like an obnoxious insect. Yet she would be dead if not for him.

II

She lay in bed, counting her last days. A second transplant had been made, again from Vishal, but of no use. A year later, the thalassemia had asserted itself again. It was endgame now.

Her parents were by her bedside, her mother sobbing energetically. Vishal was outside the ward, happily busy with his guns.

He came in after sometime.
“You never got that Terminator 3, you know. And now you are going.”
Her mother reacted bu bursting into a fresh set of sobs. Jyoti silenced her.
“I know he just doesn't realise. When he has grown up, he will.”
Mother sobbed further.
“When I am gone, tell that little turd that I will miss him wherever I go. I hope he won't miss me, he has to live my life for me.”

He walked in again, bang-banging against all the sleeping patients. A perfect little devil.
She grimaced. "You know, I really love him."

461 words.