"I'll top the bill/ I'll earn the kill/ I have to find the will to carry on with the, on with the, on with the show." – Moulin Rouge, On With the Show

"So. When are we getting the menus?"

Bob just gave me a look. I sighed after a few seconds, and sat down on the bottom bunk. "Is there anything to do in here?"

"Did you bring a book?"

"Not that I believe, no."

"Then no."

I twiddled my thumbs, eventually falling asleep.

"YA!" And I awakened to frigid ice water thrown in my face. "Ugh!" I wiped my eyes, the splash having been immediately followed by laughter.

There was Bob, first of all, who was buckled down with laughter. He of course was holding the bucket. Then a man with a snake tattoo on his arm, who was holding his arm out to me. Chuckling.

I sneered and denied it, getting up on my own.

A whole crowd. Including several prison guards. They stopped laughing as a guard spoke up. "ALRIGHT EVERYBODY! COURTYARD!"

They all grumbled, going into the hallway. Bob and the snake tattoo fellow walked ahead of me; I followed everybody else, shivering. I was led into an open area—yes, the courtyard.

I looked around. There were weights in one section, the section my ex-compadres were heading to. There was a boxing section just opposite of that area.

I decided to take up boxing.

There were two others on either side of me. One looked rather bored, simply tapping the upper-body half of a dummy's face. The other was into the game: he was violently hitting the training bag, even grunting with each thrust. I couldn't see his face, even when the bag went flying across the courtyard.

I chuckled, grabbing and tossing a bag to him. "Nice arm. What are you in fo—" I stopped as he turned to me.

I knew that he had been incarcerated. I knew that he had been trialed for his life. But I had not known that he got to keep that life. You see, the man that turned to me now—and of course it was him, with my luck these days—was Tom Vinne.

The same man who threatened the life of my son. Who helped six murderers escape from prison, going on a killing spree for about a week before getting caught. Who was supposed to be sentenced to death. Who killed my family.

He recognized me as well, and smiled. Not the most friendly smile I've ever seen. "Well well well. Ain't it just our luck?" Still had the deep, heavy country accent.

I looked around. No guards were watching us.

"See that you escaped the fire nice an' fine. We had ta' leave Thor behind, he was holding us back from 'scaping."

I felt the hatred creep into my eyes. The coldest, sharpest feeling since the anguish after the fire.

"Poor bastard went down crying. Most pitiful sight a man's gotta see, another man dyin' in tears. I never got to see your wife an' son go down. But I bet you did."

I scanned the yard again. Bob was watching me; he saw the story behind my eyes; that much nobody could ignore from Mr. Cellophane. I met his gaze for a moment before going back to this ruthless cold-blooded son of a—

"She was real pretty too, your wife. What was her name? Marie? Maris?"

Alright. Calm down. Don't—the officers were going to lunch. All of them. We were unsupervised.

"I almost wanted to keep her for myself, she was that pretty. Don't hold anything against me, friend. She would've broken your heart sooner or later, with alla' the other men in the—"

I punched him in that callous face, that rage radiating off of me so fast I couldn't stop beating him, even when he hit back. I drew back my teeth as an animal would, fighting for the dignity of my family.

A crowd soon grew, Bob and Snake-Tattoo being in the front row. Bob especially was gaping.

Finally, he had me pinned to the ground. "Well, you ain't much of a sissy as I imagined you were. Heh, shoulda' known when you ran into that house for them. It was a lost cause! Suicide!"

"Well," I used a move—ironically enough, learned from my "buffoon lessons"—to switch our positions, "maybe you should have waited for me to get in there before setting it aflame."

Questions from the crowd.

"What?" Bob took several steps into the ring.

Both Vinne and I scoffed.

"I couldn't wait for you to get home; we were already in the house when your family came in. Call it a moment of weakness—I panicked and set your house on fire." He shrugged beneath me. "No biggie."

"NO BIGGIE?!" I saw only red now, feeling only the rage pulsing through my entire being, "YOU MURDERERED MY WIFE AND SON IN COLD BLOOD!"

"I DID NOTHING BUT SET THE MATCH!"

I drew my fist up, preparing to . . . *ahem* . . . be—beat him to death. Not my proudest moment, but god knows! How I wanted to do it! He had it coming, didn't he? He killed my family in cold blood! That henchman who held him back! Probably many others, who all want vengeance on this heinous devil for how-many known dead!

And I would have done it, too. If it weren't for Bob and his tattoo friend, I would have murdered somebody in a fit of righteous animosity. One of them dragged me away, kicking and screaming bloody murder to Vinne. Snake knocked me out cold from behind, and that's how I spent my first day in prison.

I awakened. Bob was in a chair across from my bed, reading. He looked up as I groaned. "Good morning, my homicidal brother. That was physically more than I've ever done in my lifetime."

I groaned again. My head was now truly—literally—killing me. "Did I kill him?"

"No, but he's been put up to trial again. The cameras caught him admitting to starting the fire. They say this time he has absolutely no chance of surviving this one with his life."

"Mmmm. Good."

He stared at me intently. "Did he honestly kill them?"

I sighed, covering my eyes with my arm. "I'm not in the hugging mood today, Bob."

"We have never been that type of family."

I smirked. "True. The most love I ever got out of my childhood was around Maris."

And Marge.

As if I'd tell him that, though. Nobody needed to know that. However, I proceeded to tell him everything about the fire. I left out the funeral.

By the time I was done, silence filled the room. I now noticed I was in the infirmary. My head was throbbing, though I was too tired to reach a little ways and get the aspirin that was on the table.

"Could you please give me the aspirin?"

He took two out and handed them over. I didn't even take a sip of water, just swallowed them whole.

He returned to the vulture posture. "And I thought I was the evil one in the family."

"I've been playing that role for a while now, in case you haven't noticed."

"Mm. True. But I've been the public one."

"But I've seen more."

"Children laughing at you while a clown abuses you relentlessly on live TV?"

"A flaming beam landing on your loved ones, burning them alive right in front of you while you consider jumping in there after them?"

"Those who commit suicide are damned in the afterlife."

"I'm pretty sure there are worse ways to get damned for life."

"Like attempting to murder your brother and two children by exploding a dam you stole fifteen million dollars off of in building cuts?"

"Touché. Attempting to murder a ten-year-old boy countless times?"

"Technically, three so far. And one on his aunt, several on Krusty. For the love of god, please tell me you aren't a fan anymore."

"No! Not for ten years, no."

"Good," He handed me a book "I highly recommend writing in this. It helps go easy on the therapist."

I smirked again, taking the book. It was a journal; maroon colored. A sharpened pencil was already inside.

Bob got up and left in silence. Good, the medicine hadn't kicked in yet. I then opened it and started writing in here, writing all of my most memorable moments since the dam.

But it has helped. Though they were painful re-living, I now feel comfortable talking about my past. It feels as if a load has been taken off my shoulders, like the world being taken off of Atlas.

I like it. Maybe I'll even continue writing in it. As for now . . . well, I'm getting my first parole hearing today. Er, Bob is. I'm going to ask about mine later.

It has been about three, four months since the dam. Give or take a few days. What can I say? Time takes a while to heal all wounds.

I have not heard anything else about Vinne. I'm assuming that he's dead now; either that or he's been in a separate prison. Probably not, everybody's seen everybody in prisons. We would have heard.

And now? Now I'm being called up to pay for three months rent. Nobody even LISTED me when I was arrested. See, it's the little things that get you. Well! I'm going to GET noticed . . .

By taking the first step and getting out of my brother's shadow.

In case you didn't get that last bit, it was the beginning of "Sideshow Sibling Smack-Down," my favorite Simpsons comic of all time.

No matter how cruel life has been to all of us, keep fighting. Find the will to carry on, use these morals I leave at the beginning of every chapter. Cecil is one of my favorite characters, and it has been a privilege to make one of the most forgotten Simpson characters the main star of several of my stories including this.

*sniff* On with the show. THE END.