Author's note: Hey guys! I own it! I own it all! Graverobber: No you don't. Me: Shut up. Graverobber: No. Me: ugh… Enjoy the story.
I sighed. Time to wake up. Again. Well, at least I didn't have to worry about the sone, I think it was called. That bright yellow ball that used to be in the sky that was kind of like the moon. Or was it the sun? Oh well. It's gone now. I sit up in my bed and sigh. It would be a long day.
"Nation," I hear my sister yell, "Come get coffee and food." Coffee? Food? Since when does she get up before I drag her kicking and screaming from her bed? I literally roll out of bed, then walk into the kitchen.
Holy crap. She'd burned what I assumed were pancakes until they resembled hockey pucks. (They were used to play a game called hockey, which was played on ice using sticks many, many years ago.) I sigh.
"What did you do?" I ask her.
" I made breakfast." she answered.
"No, you made charcoal cakes." I say. I drop the one that I'd been holding on the counter. It shattered. "Pancakes don't do that." I told her. She frowned.
"I was just trying to make food. I didn't think it would be so hard." I close my eyes for a moment.
" Zar, maybe you should leave the cooking to me." I say. I love Zaria, I really do, but despite being older than me, she wasn't what one might call kitchen-qualified. She couldn't make ice correctly.
"Maybe," she said, looking slightly ashamed.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Well, it's just… do you remember what today is?" she asks. Of course I remember. How could I forget?
"Um, August twenty-seventh?" I ask. I really don't want to talk about this. It happened four years ago, when I was eleven and she was thirteen… No. I won't think about it.
"And…" She knew that I knew.
"And the fourth anniversary of Mom's death. Your point?"
"I thought we should remember her. She always used to make us pancakes. Remember?" She made it sound so easy.
"It was a nice thought, But I remember her everyday. It's like she wasn't ready to leave us, so she still watches us." I tell her.
"Maybe we should go out for breakfast." Zaria suggests.
"Can Chessuri come?" I ask. Chessuri is my best friend.
"Sure." She runs a hand through her long dark hair. "But maybe we should get decent first." She's right. We're both still in nightclothes. "Alright. Meet you down here in ten?" I ask. She nods and we both rush off.
I put on black jeans, a black tank top, and a black and white sweatshirt the start brushing through my curly mop of hair. When I'm done, I put on a little bit of black eyeliner and walk downstairs. It had been nine minutes. Twenty minutes later, Zaria walked in looking great.
"Little late?" I ask her.
"You know I don't manage time well." she answered, not looking bothered at all. She looks like mom. Dark hair, curvy… she has a voice like her, too.
"Yeah, I know. Let's go. We both have interviews at two and it's already eleven." I say, walking out the door as I speak. Zaria follows.
"Hello. And how are you today?" asks our friendly neighborhood Graverobber. I roll my eyes.
"We're fine. And not buying any of your corpse snot." I reply snidely.
"Oh, PMSing today, Snarky?" Graves asks, still walking with us.
"Snarky? Really? That's the best you can do? Be a little creative, will you?" I snap.
"Damn. You've wounded me. How will I ever recover?" He says it in flat tones, making it obvious he was being sarcastic.
"You won't. That was the point." I say dryly.
"Ooh. Big talk for a kid." Graves said, obviously enjoying our little combat.
"Damn right. I gotta go. Tell Shilo I said hi." I tell him. He grins.
"Alright. She misses you, though I can't fathom why. It's not like you're funny or anything." He said.
"I should stop by. I'll try to over the next few days. It's kinda hectic right now." It's true. And I miss Shilo, too.
"See you around, Kid." He messes up my hair and walks away. I sigh and push it out of my face. Zaria is watching me.
"What?" I ask. She's being sort of creepy. She's never this quiet.
"You talked to him." She said, sounding oddly hollow.
"Yes. He is my friend. Friends speak to one another. Are you okay?" I can't keep the concern out of my voice.
"I wish I could do that." She said, still in that monotonous tone.
"So why don't you? It isn't hard." It really isn't hard. It's kinda natural.
"I'm older. But you do more. Mom… liked you better. She still would." She shocks me with that.
"I… You… Mommy loved us both the same. You are the actress. I'm the script writer. Everyone notices you. You will be a star one day. Just like Mom." I mean every word of it.
"No. You belong to him. She loved him. She always talked about him. Remember?" she's still hollow.
"Um, no. I don't remember. Who do I belong to? Who did mama love?" I'm honestly curious now.
"it was-" at that moment Chessuri walked up to us.
"Hey! Are we still getting food?" she asked.
"Yeah." I said, and we went.
Author's note: Who do you think Nation's father is? Is it a good story so far? Reviews are loved!