The Twins

The young Morgenstern whose beauty and fortune are matched only by the egos of their two parents together is however very simple from the idea that one can have of nobility, wealth, and all that goes with these two.

However, despite the aura that the latter gives off and how much they arouse admiration and ambition at the same time in some of their comrade’s hearts and anyone else they meet on their way, they have never had a big head.

They are naturally humble and modest, it must be said that money does not make all rich teenagers stupid, unreasonable, who are ready to do anything to demonstrate their wealth and its power.

They behave like ordinary mortals and above all they tend to act like adults since they are taught to be responsible from the cradle.

The boys are taught that they are different from children of their age and they are aspired to a future that far exceeds the life of other earthlings.

It's ironic, right? To be called terrestrial by other mere terrestrials just because they only have hundreds of billions of dollars more than the rest of the world.

In fact, the billions sure make all the difference, but that's no reason to treat the rest of the world as earthly as if it were a bad thing when you yourself are earthy to the root.

It’s not like they come from the stars or something holy to the core.

Sometimes, some people understand them a bit, since many of them target them like slot machines. And it is painful to be so miserly, lazy, and opportunistic.

However, on the other hand, one has to admit that it never hurts anyone to occasionally find a slot ready to puke its guts out to you, right?

The twins rarely take part in the activities that the other pupils organize such as Kaeli's crazy birthday parties, sleepovers, movie nights, game nights, and many other crazy activities that their wealthy minds can imagine.

All they are allowed to do as teenagers is attend ball and cocktail parties, gala evenings, and fundraising evenings that their parents personally organize.

On the other hand, there are the events organized by the conservatory, participating in the golf matches, tennis of their club, and any inter-school competitions, and finally playing the pretty hearts all they long to fulfill their mother craziness.

This means if the activity in question does not bring any joy, pride, and interest to the adult Morgenstern, then it is not an activity that is worthy of their sons' attention.

Being born into a family where your whole life was planned before you were even born is not really an easy thing to cope with, especially when you know all too well that everyone is born with their reason, rights, and distinct desires.

Yet so far the twins manage to comply with it as best they can by following the path laid out for them. Really, stand up and cheer them up while you're at it.

Sometimes the other children wonder if the twins are really human. They show no emotion, be it joy, admiration, sadness, excitement, or loneliness.

They are always as impassive as a stone, collected as the surface of an ocean of blood, its viscous and thick state prevents it from waving and making bubbles.

Cependant, anyone should have suspected behind this mask of coldness which gives shivers to prying eyes who stare for too long, those hard, blank stares that can cut a fly in mid-flight, and behind those impenetrable masks sleep two children who only ask to live a normal life.

A life full of laughter, absurdity silliness, and such… that they only ask to feel things like all foolhardy and tempestuous teenagers their age who do everything without any consideration for anyone and without thinking about the consequences beforehand.

They are children, after all, it’s normal, no? And they also have two hearts as pure as snow.

As pure as this snow which at the moment covers the pavement of the city more than fifty centimeters high, causing people to bundle up in warm clothes until they almost disappear in their coats, leaving only annoying eyes or a wisp of rebellious hair that refuses to take the hostility of the temperature seriously.

Before we escalate further, there are some details that are good to share. In the year two thousand and eighteen, about seventy years ago the world underwent great climate changes which caused damage of all kinds, as open unknown breaches and closed other holes in the biosphere for example.

For some these changes have been beneficial while for others they have been devastating, these changes most often relate to atmospheric changes and some degradation between universes, the second does not affect the world too much except a group of people who are aware of this degradation which is purely spiritual.

It has been seventy years and more since the world has undergone these biosphere changes, and since then the world has been going as it has changed.

That said the quality of oxygen has increased due to some cleaning done by nature itself by getting rid of some proliferating agents that made life hard for it.

Maybe nature is keen to test how human in itself is destroyable; otherwise, it wouldn't have given them this second chance.

So far no one really knows the causes behind these sudden changes, untold numbers of casualties have been recorded around the world during these changes.

The whole world was plunged into a monstrous darkness for over five years, the most terrifying and longest five years they had lived to date without having control over anything.

Some say it was divine punishment to atone for human sins and others say it was the process of a new renewal, giving those left behind a chance to live better be more humane, and change their behavior.

Anyway, laymen, pagans, atheists, and scientists all have an exact theory and idea of the causes of these events but none want to appreciate and accept the theory of the other.

They played arm wrestling for over ten years on it until the subject was no longer in the headlines everyone was eager to return to their life, to forget the nightmare they escaped scarred all over.

However, each of them still continues to promote their idea on their own without worrying about the other theories, everyone has their own belief after all.

That said, despite everything that may happen the people who inhabit the world are still the same, greedy, envious, sly, hypocritical, and so on… nothing and no one can change this creature that is the human in itself.

Therefore, the New York that the great-grandparents and grandparents of some of these children knew is no longer the same.

It only snows for a period of time, that is, two weeks only, no more and no less. One must give a little room to each whim of nature a little space to make its show when it feels like it whenever it wants.

It can also happen during these two weeks which are between mid-December and January 6, it does not snow but it is still freezing cold enough to break bones and teeth during these two weeks.

It is chilly at night throughout the whole two months without a break which is very bearable.

In cases where it snows heavily, which often starts from December 20th to January 6th, the cold reminds some of them of their old city, their old life making some nostalgic and understand the chance they have to be still alive.

There are others who don't care; they are as well as they are today since they don’t even know what the world looks like before that.

After January 10, the temperature is almost bearable, the cold subsides and people are already starting to put on their best clothes to look their best.

Some elderly who are still alive now love the current New York others are nostalgic and those who were born during and after the events can only complain about these few days of unbearable cold. If only they knew.

The children have just returned to school after the New Year holidays, and these few days of rest they have had have made them completely lazy.

After each break they come back to class with funeral heads like sick dogs, they are never ready to go back to school no matter how long was the vacation.

According to them, the days go by far too quickly for their liking when they're having a blast, but come to a complete halt when they're dealing with their temperamental, demanding teachers.

Classes were already filled with sleepy little heads and grumpy eyes heavy with sleep unable to focus on the lesson topics.

Every morning, the situation is always the same because at Wood Hill classes are given early in the morning.

Madame la Doyenne advocates that “getting up early makes you more creative and active,” and at the same time… Still according to her words, “early risers always have a lot more free time for themselves.”

However, they spend all their time within the school itself, when do they have that time for themselves?

This is part of the reason why classes start at seven in the morning and end almost at noon and the rest of the day is devoted to personal development.

The worst part of all this it’s to hear the headmistress shouting, in fact, according to their Doyenne, of course, every morning over the loudspeakers: “The future belongs to those who get up early. Come on, my hard-working little soldiers, get to work.” She is too passionate and takes her work far too seriously for their liking.

Some of them always wince and some really want to bust those speakers until there's nothing left to tell what they were made of.

But unfortunately for them and fortunately for their enthusiastic headmistress, the loudspeakers are built into the walls, and so tiny that one can hardly sport them.

They were very predictable on this one. They have surely had similar cases in the past which have put into practice what the young students of this generation think.

Their concealment is too ingenious for there to be no precedent, it is impossible.

Everyone chooses how their day will be different from the previous one and reports on the things accomplished during these five hours since they normally return home at seven in the afternoon or nine at the latest.

If the activity in question relates to music, painting, dance, sport, theater, horseracing, swimming, escrima, or anything else, reports are directed to the appropriate department. And during these good eight hours, they are exempt from wearing the school uniform.

…These famous three navy blue pieces give them goosebumps all over and the affliction of their lives at the mere sight of it.

But what can they do with this uniform with no aesthetic criteria except accept it as a sort of punishment for their future slippages, huh?

They are still impatiently awaiting the three rings of the bell which will announce the end of the lesson in order to get rid of them as quickly as possible and slip into the clothes of their choice.

Anyone can read the relief on their sleepy faces that come to life when it comes time to move on to self-development.

It must also be said that these little brats exaggerate, to spend more than seven hours of lessons with zombie heads; it's a job of titans.

Children have a firm will, this will they draw from their child's soul that over time adults lose for better or for worse.

It’s this same iron will that gives them the zeal to want to face everyone without exception, which pushes them to assert themselves more every day.

It is this same will that the parents have forgotten that one day they too have relished its elixir, its power.

While the teachers rejoice in their peaceful morning, which is going off without a hitch, the little ones are still waiting for theirs to begin. Even those thirty minutes spent in the cafeteria can't get rid of their ghastly faces.

They have two thirty-minute breaks in the morning to freshen up and eat their breakfast and lunch or something.

The professors always give their respective lessons in mortuary calm. Only the sound of markers on the boards or their pen on their tablet seems to want to chase away this peace that has settled in at times. Sometimes the teachers want that peace to never change, but unfortunately, everyone takes their turn, as they say.

With the trouncing temperature this morning, things seem to be taking a most cadaverous turn; everyone is as pale as a sheet of white paper and seems to be frozen in time like pillars of salt or icy marble in a lost civilization. But all of a sudden, a dull noise is heard in the corridor, the blue hall more precisely.

Alerted by the thud that seems to be the long-awaited sign of a change in this morbid atmosphere, eyes full of excitement and curiosity give way to cadaveric faces that disappear as if by magic.

And the rotten atmosphere finally begins to go in the direction of these teenagers completely awake and ready for the show that will follow.

A firecracker Howie bursts into the chemistry room like a raging beast, his eyes filled with fury and rage. They wonder how he manages to attract so much attention without even feeling embarrassed or ashamed of his attitude.

…His hair was in disarray like he just had a waking nightmare that he narrowly escaped or something. That same hair that's normally tied neatly in a neat ponytail that falls down his lower back with a few wild, out-of-control locks which often gives him a devastatingly devastating charm for a sixteen-year-old boy.

His three-piece uniform is now reduced to two poor crumpled rags; luckily he chose to keep the pants.

The navy blue jacket hangs miserably in his left hand for its survival, the white shirt looks like some random piece of fabric he just grabbed from under his kitchen sink, and the red tie tucked under his shirt miserably as if it was scared for its life.

It's as if the long-haired boy had put the tie before the so-called shirt after a long back-and-forth, and the sleeveless vest must be somewhere in the establishment God knows where calling for help with all its might.

No one can say where he was before he landed in the chemistry classroom in this barbarous state, like a demon that had crawled out from the bowels of hell itself to their doorstep.

It's no wonder, but one of these days this boy will be the downfall of Mr. Mork, the advanced chemistry teacher.

The poor man gasped when he heard the noise and nearly passed away when Howie stormed into his classroom like a madman who had just escaped from the nearest asylum.

With a hand placed dramatically on his chest, the poor man tries to calm his racing heart, which is beating a martyrdom in his chest.

The poor guy is red as a tomato with anger and confusion at the same time without knowing if he is really angry or if it is his fear of this young man that manifests thus.

There is something wrong with the young man; they all know it since he was admitted to Wood Hill from a young age.

Mr. Mork takes off his glasses with a trembling and nervous hand that he tries somehow to hide, and wipes them without needing any attention since they are clean.

He needs something to help take his mind off the fear that Howie instills in him when he's in a tizzy while trying to find the right words to talk to him.

"Mr. Buckleburry, for God's sake, could you tell us what happened to you again this morning?" He eventually finds the courage to ask the lad in a tone that the poor guy wants to be calm and composed but that betrays him in the end.

The fear in his guts was stronger than his will to be calm and he didn't even realize that he mispronounced his student's name.

Anyone present in the room can hear all his frustration in these few words thrown at Howie who does nothing to answer.

Instead of giving dear old Mr. Mork an adequate answer, the lad started screaming like a really sick person, writhing in pain as if something was crushing his guts.

His classmates started laughing to the height of Mr. Mork who started sweating profusely.

'How to deal with such a disturbed child? Besides, he shouldn't even be among them, to begin with,’ thinks the baldy teacher.

The poor middle-aged man, unable to control himself any longer gathered his courage and means, grabbed the insolent kid by the rear of his arms, and dragged him out of the room, enough is enough.

He has to find a solution with this Buckleburry once and for all and today seems to be the day he will put a stop to his antic.

But to anyone's deception, the poor teacher only pressed the red button on the door to signal to the headmistress and Doyenne that he was facing an uncontrollable situation.

This is the operation of these various little red buttons found on each classroom door.

When a situation overwhelms the teachers, they call on other help that the headmistress takes care of sending them.

Wood Hill was built to care for and nurture difficult children and such.

“Oh! But why are you pulling so hard on my arm, it's not acting class yet, Mr. Mork?" The crazed intruder finally asked while feigning innocence.

Mr. Mork glared at him, suddenly losing all his faculties when he saw Howie's surprised, almost frightened face staring at him innocently.

He released him very quickly and pressed the green button to cancel his previous action while eyeing the little rascal from head to toe as if he had grown a second head.

"Why are you making that face Mr. Mork?" someone could have thought you had seen something disturbing. Sorry, I assure you I completely lost track of time. I woke up way too early this morning. I think I'm starting to lose my mind in the end." he begins to explain to the poor man who looks at him without even being able to blink.

"I need nine hours of sleep, but I didn't get enough last night," Howie narrated to Mr. Mork who was listening to him; he seemed to be sorry and to believe what he was saying, poor man.

But his tirade doesn't end there; he goes on further forcing the poor man to listen carefully.

“It was three o'clock and a good few minutes this morning when I was finally able to fall asleep, I had two important reports to make this morning. I couldn't botch them and make them anyhow anyway; it’s not my type… and here is the result. " he ended by making a grand gesture to demonstrate his person.

Then he pauses with a frightened expression as he turns sharply to Mr. Mork, who jumps up and leaps backward with his heart on the tip of his tongue…

"Do you think that's the reason for my condition this morning, Mr. Mork?" he asked innocently.

Since he didn't get an answer from the poor frightened man and saw the poor man's face crumbled like a sand castle, he said to himself that the latter received the maximum shock for this morning.

Satisfied enough, he turned away to go to his place but he stopped for a moment with a thoughtful expression as if he had forgotten something.

“Actually, my name is Huckleberry, not Buckleburry. I admit they have a little resemblance but please don't do it again; you have to know the difference between an H and a B all this time. You are a chemist, for God's sake, precision is your credo. I hate when people mispronounce my name and even more when they take it for something else."

He used a harsh and frightening tone that can make the strongest soul one can find in this world tremble, without even daring to raise his voice in a calm that one recognizes in diagnosed sociopaths.

It's as if he was no longer that boy under the influence of his demons who burst into the room in a daze, crying and punching his guts to chase away his sorrow.

He made a small bow in front of the room before heading to his seat lazily without any care in the world. Without taking their eyes off him, Mr. Mork and the rest of the room followed him with their eyes on his seat.

Some are amused by his confusing behavior and others are attracted by his refined manners which he tries as best he can to conceal.

A dismayed Mr. Mork stared in horror at the outfit Howie planned to take his class in, abruptly jumping out of his chock state to point it out to the prick before he could take a seat next to Ayke.

With a smirk, ignoring Mr. Mork, he leaned towards Ayke with a relaxed look and nonchalant smirk.

"So Ayke, you grace us with your presence today, huh, where did Aike go? What are you up to this time?" He whispered to the called Ayke who froze for a while not knowing what to answer.

Then the astonishment gives way to reality in the head of the so-called Ayke who raised a sly eyebrow at the intention of his interlocutor whom he let fall immediately afterwards.

'It's a fluke,' he thought, 'don't bother raising the question, he didn't really recognize me. He's acting like always, that can't be true.'

"Mr. Huckleberry…" Mr. Mork hailed him while taking care to pronounce and say his name correctly this time.

“Go comply properly; you are human after all, right?” Mr. Mork gave him an almost defiant tone this time.

Howie rolled his eyes as if listening to the teacher talking to him pissed him off. Without taking his eyes off Ayke, Howie replied in an amused, childish tone.

“If you're one of them, then no sir, I am not a human being at all.”

This time, Mr. Mork lost his cool, and this semblance of calm he fought to keep on himself, without thinking he threw at his head the marker he had been holding hard for some time now.

Howie didn't move but Ayke caught the marker effortlessly before it hit the nape of that relevant little scoundrel who just poked his nose into his business.

“Impressive!" Howie whispered to him with a small, amused wince.

Without hesitation, Ayke hit him in his exposed forehead in front of him by using the marker.

“Ouch! Are you crazy, brat? It's not recommended to hit people; seems that I have to teach you some good manners, you, prank!" Howie complained, glaring at Ayke.

"Say the one who acts crazy all day long," Ayke replied in the same tone as him. “You are a sick person, man. You should be locked away from sane people, instead of being out with us.”

“I would gladly go there if you accompany me during the stay.” Howie shimmed with a devilish grin ignoring the harsh tone the latter used to say those words to him.

He suddenly feels sheathed with positive, calming energy flowing through his entire body right now. The misty cloak over his eyes vanished to let his almond-shaped gray-green eyes sparkle with delight which softened those of Ayke instantly.

"Are you going to leave or not?" Ayke asked him a bit confused by the answer and the effect the latter had on him, his tone softening without his consent.

"You're preventing the lesson from being taught, get out of here, man of the taverns!” Ayke tried to regain his composure, Howie smiled with a knowing wink, as if he'd found the effect he was looking for.

Then he turned away from his desk mate, picked up his clicks and clacks where he had dropped them, and headed for the back door without glancing for the room or Mr. Mork.

A satisfied smile formed on his lips when he had his face hidden from everyone.

Sometimes he wonders why he acts like a mad dog. And strangely he never found any answer to his questions of conscience. At times, he feels the need to do some crazy, out-of-the-ordinary things to soothe his soul.

His ludicrous and exasperating behavior is a response to the pain he feels, the source of which he does not know. And every time he finishes his show that he can't control, he feels soothed until the new crisis.

At times when he is calm and composed, the other students wonder if he is the same deranged Howie they dealt with last week who is present today.

It is as if his body was inhabited by two different people, even more sometimes, they are not too sure of the number.

One knows no limits, no fear, no rules, a real ticking time bomb, and the other is civilized and courteous. Always well dressed and very refined.

Does he suffer from schizophrenia or any personality disorder? This nobody knows and nobody dares to ask the question directly.

Everyone just watches him go crazy when it suits him and acts like he and that person are two completely different people once the storm passes.

He headed for the cozy and ultra-modern locker room, he took out his belongings and headed to the bathroom where he took a bath, and washed his hair which he imprisoned in his famous signature ponytail.

He dressed appropriately in the spare uniform he always has in the locker and stepped out to face his busy day completely different from the person who caused this uproar in the early hours of the day.

He checks his schedule and lets out a small sigh of relief.

It was already lunchtime when he finished his math class. So he headed for the cafeteria with a most bewildered head, pretending or rather ignoring a hundred pairs of curious eyes staring at him.

Howie belongs to this category of people who know what is good for their health but refuse to eat it; he is one of the first people who find the menu proposed in the cafeteria boring, too rich, too balanced, and too compliant to his taste.

Sometimes he would have liked a little pizza, ice cream, a big bowl of sweet cereal, or hamburgers. But unfortunately, just as it is forbidden at home, here too the same rules persist.

"Ah, how tiring!" He muttered to himself as he took a seat at a table of two by the large window, with a glass of juice and a green apple in his hand.

He crossed his long legs over each other and grabbed a book which he leafed through without really putting his mind to it, he was lost somewhere else, before setting it down and crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes fixed in the void. Completely forgetting the universe he is in.

Those who were there this morning, who attended his sick show looked at him curiously, he felt their eyes on him but didn't care.

What caught his attention were those two particularly mischievous beautiful eyes that were staring at him from a considerable distance but which he still felt despite the distance and the other gazes on him, for some weird reason he could feel their weight on him.

While Howie makes his diva by imposing himself under the inquisitive gaze of his comrades. The twins were debating whether the latter was able to identify Ayke this morning for real, or if was it just a fluke as the latter as thought.

Is it a coincidence, a coincidence, or at least he really made the difference between the two?

“Listen, Aike, I assure you he came up to me lazily, and greeted me by saying my name, MY DAMN NAME nonchalantly, without even a shadow of hesitation. Then he asked me what you were busy doing that kept you from coming to class."

Ayke was killing himself to explain to his brother for the umpteenth time that the moron of service has surely seen clear in their game.

"That's weird!" Aike exclaimed softly. It's been a while since he kept repeating the same sentence without any conviction. There is no gap in their game, no one can see through it no matter what.

"Yeah, that's weird indeed! We should find out what he knows." Ayke snapped with a kind of sly agitation without taking his eyes off the ominous portrait of Howie, sitting like the king of the world in the large richly organized room.

The twins have this special feature of their own, which no one else among humans has… the fact of being able to hide or blend into the skin of the other without anyone being able to realize it.

No one absolutely no one can untangle them. It’s like you all heard, no one can tell the difference between them to such an extent that the teachers agreed to call them "The Morgenstern".

Without needing to know who they are addressing exactly, if a Morgenstern finds the message then the other will surely have it and they can arrange as they want for the tax, it is up to them.

It wasn't worth knowing who was who, it's frustrating and disconcerting, they always feel like they're walking on eggshells and it's tiring.

After all, they are brothers; it somehow suits them to get rid of this weight. Pretending to know who is who to get picked up is not always a piece of cake.

And this goes even further since even the staff that takes care of their villa, the colleagues, and the friends of their parents call them, the Young Morgenstern.

This makes them laugh every time they see their distressed and discouraged face since they do everything to prevent anyone from telling the difference between them. They value this intimacy between them.

Ayke in his field is recognized as a virtuoso of the piano or music in general. But do we really know who is behind this piano? But their mother feels powerful just because she knows at least the two of them don't excel in the same field.

The twins refused to have a separate bedroom or wear any clothing or accessories that had not been paired since they were very young, and Maryse, their mother, wanted at all costs to break the bond of twinship that binds them to better have control over them.

Ever since they found out about her intentions, they keep changing tactics to mislead her with every passing day.

“It's not a bad thing,” Lucien had said to his wife at first, “It’s normal that they are both so close. After all, they shared for nine months and a few days a small space all to themselves, one attached to the other like a lifeline. We have to respect their privacy and bond.”

To tell the truth, he really wanted his wife to leave the boys as they were. He was trying to dissuade her from interfering between the two to ruin their existence.

After all, they each have their role in their lives, he had accepted it.

“If the fusion that connects you to them is lost, it's not their fault. When you carried them in your womb despite your connection to them, between them they shared another bond that had excluded you. So stop trying to tear them apart so they can go back to how they were. What is lost will never be found. You are their mother and they respect you, they listen to you and love you what else do you want, isn't that enough for you?" But his words weren't enough to calm Maryse's ardor.

When she has something in mind, she has to get it done at all costs to feel well in her skin; it's her method or nothing at all.

Some parents refuse to let go and cling to the idea that children are their property and will never grow up.

So they make mistakes trying to control their lives instead of accompanying them or advising them by guiding them while giving them some space breath to be themselves.

Sometimes they can't even tell the difference between manipulating and loving, but it's the one who undergoes the assaults who knows what they are facing although sometimes the children exaggerate in their scheme too.

The rebellion of the twins is the most devious; no one realizes what a dangerous game these two are playing. And no one would have known if Howie wasn’t the relevant exception who cracked their secret.

They therefore have to be sure of themselves about this rascal in order to change tactics or adapt to it. Who knows, maybe they can get something good, and extraordinary out of this new discovery?