Last years wishes are this years apologies{morgana
Feb 21, 2011 15:06:57 GMT -5
Post by peanutpie on Feb 21, 2011 15:06:57 GMT -5
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"We're the new face of failure. Prettier and younger but not any better off."
The main event of this morning was probably pancakes. As soon as I pulled on my jeans from the third drawer in my closet; I smelled them from downstairs. Of course, my sister, the enthusiast about life in general, was already downstairs without even having to be reminded. Me, I was more of the 'sleep in until the alarm clock buzzes' and followed by laying in bed for twenty minutes and trying to go back to sleep. Of course, the second alarm would twitter on and you'd finally force yourself out of bed. By this time, you were running behind on your family's schedule. So, basically, thats how my life went. Or, at least my morning routine. As soon as I buttoned the button's on my jeans and pulled on my shoes, I was fleeing my room with my hair falling behind me.
I shuffled downstairs, my brown boots hitting the stairs, making a hollow noise. The wooden steps had been something my Mother said made the house look more rustic, though I always wondered why we couldn't have normal carpeted stairs like everyone else did. You know, the ones that you could walk across without gaining a splinter in your foot? Exactly that kind. I would know from many situations that I went downstairs without as much as a pair of socks on. It ended up with me screaming in agony as my beast of a sister took the tweezers to my foot, with me screaming the whole time. Hell, thats why my Mother gave up on my career training. If I couldn't take a splinter to the foot, I guess I couldn't fight in an arena....
As I made my way into the kitchen (decorated in browns and yellows, something my Mother found more rustic. Dammit, she used that word for everything.) my Dad looked up from his coffee cup, his eyes blinking twice before resuming the indifferent coffee-cup-staring position he has been in ever since I was like.... four. Ever since I can remember. My Mother shot me an impatient look and shooed me to the table, using the back of her hand as an indication to "Go sit by your sister or I'll purposefully kill you." Oh, my warm and snuggly Mother (of death) I knew she always wanted a boy.
My sister, who was redheaded and a whole lot taller than I was, sat next to me, leaning on the back of her chair, one finger clenched on a piece of hair and the other absentmindedly on the table. Her sneakers were leaning on the back heels. They were the stationary, bright white with the ugly bubble heels. My sister insisted they were state-of-the-art capitol shoes, but we all knew they were the cheap kind that you would buy from the training center store when your other shoes passed out from so much running. I had been through these pairs of shoes before when I was.... 14. You know, before my Mother gave up all hope on me being a career tribute and then gave me to a shoemaker. Hell, thats another thing about shoes. Its suprising how much knowlege I have on the topic of footwear.
A minute after I sat down at the table, my Mother, pink dress and all, came parading from the kitchen countertop, with dainty plates and a huge platter full of pancakes. Me being me, I took the first five Pancakes on the stack and drowned them with syrup, causing my fingers to get sticky. I grabbed for a napkin and glaced at my sister, who was glaring at the single pancake on her plate like it was a wart. I could hear her, mentally screaming "I dunnot do carbs. Thankyouverymuch." All the while I was cutting my knife into the large stack and bringing my fork to suff my face. Hey, it's not my fault that I have a metabolism that speeds ahead. Still, my sister cautiously stabbed the pancake, her eyes analyzing it carefully. It was probably the smallest of the batch and she was still refusing to eat it. Poking it twice more, she watched it wiggle and blinked twice. I could just hear her inner dialouge screaming about "OHMYGOD. OHMYGOD. DO I HAVVEE TO EAT IT?" As I was almost finished with my stack. With one last flourish of a fork, I stabbed the remaining pancake and waved it around in syrup and plopped it into my mouth, making my sister and Mother cringe in unison. I smiled in satisfaction and skipped out of the house without a word.
I could nearly see my sister gaping at the fact that I didn't ask to be excused, for the improper way I ate the pancakes. My boots hit the concrete as I sped all the way to the shoe store, making sure not to stop. The thing about the way my house was, you could easily walk to the shoe shop. It was odd, because my house was closer to the town square, one of the few that wasn't in a village of sorts. It sat on the edge of the square, so all I really had to do was walk between two ally way's and then... I was there. Opening the glass door, I heard a tinkling of bells and was then submerged into an 'oasis' of leather smells.
