I woke up to a very sunny morning. It used to mean good luck in our family, but nobody really believes any of that anymore. All I can remember thinking was, 'God, why does the sun have to be so bright?' and then 'Ohmigod, I'm 16 today!' Then my flat iron caught on fire. I guess God was sick of people knocking his sun. "Shit!" I yelled, probably loud enough for my sleeping parents to hear. I grabbed the water bottle on my dresser and threw it at the flaming hair device. Then I retrieved the water bottle, opened it, and threw it once more. I'm really not good in panic mode. The flames diminished, and the smoke alarm didn't beep at all. I opened my tiny window in my tiny bedroom and looked out into the already crowded streets of New York City. This was going to be a great day, except for the lack of my flat iron.

I got dressed in my special 'I Am A Woman' outfit (a mini-skirt, long knee socks, my fur boots, a T-Shirt that was just plain white, and a brown fur coat). Luckily, my curly hair was actually sort of cute today, so I didn't need my flat iron after all. On 16th birthdays, everything works out. I grabbed a blue-berry bagel and my back pack, not bothering to wake my parents up. Dad was up late last night, receiving messages from our dead ancestors. My family isn't weird at all, but thank God I got to decorate the apartment. All the Hindu stuff is stored safely away in the shed on the roof of the building.

My parents own the apartment building. They are the owners, and the managers and we are the staff. 'We' would be me and my seven brothers and sisters, Juliana, Kate, Lilac, Jamison, Daniel, Ruth, and Nikki (Nicole). I am the middle child; gloriously the middle child and I get the smallest room in our two apartments. It's part of Dad's religion, all the Women live in one apartment, all the Men in another. Thank god Dad's not sexist, too. On the bright side, we never get lonely. The reason I love my room so much is because, it is the farthest from actual human civilization! Well, my family civilization. And it's the only room with a lock on the door. It was Julie's day to take care of the twins (Daniel and Ruth, 4 years of age) so I got to head out to school early.

I know what you're thinking. 'Wow, she's a nerd, wanting to be at school early and all,' but actually, all the popular kids get to school early, so they can smoke pot and make out behind the cafeteria. Just kidding about the pot, too. We are all pretty good kids. I reached the street, the beautiful street, with my mother nowhere to be found. I started the four block walk to my school, Kaitlin Hines School for the Beautiful. Yes, that is the actual name. The lady was a bit full of herself. I took two bites of my bagel and then gave it to the old homeless lady with a baby. She is real sweet, her name is Maggie. I always give a little of my breakfast to her. She doesn't talk much, but she's sweet all the same. "Lucy," she whispered, I wonder how she knew my name, which was actually Lucille. I stopped, startled.

"Yes?" I asked. I really looked at Maggie. She was beautiful with her long, straight, dark brown hair. She had caramel colored eyes. The down side was she was wearing rags. She was pregnant again, who knows who the father is?

"Save….self…," she mumbled. I leaned in closer to her.

"What?" I whispered.

"SAVE YOURSELF!" she yelled. I didn't understand, until her lumpy belly exploded. Someone had placed a bomb inside of Maggie, and in other places too. Everything around me caught on fire, and the last thing I saw was my left hand, melting like the plastic of my flat iron. And then I was gone.