in - spire :: {kyubey

When I was a child, my father used to tell me about the stars instead of nursery rhymes. He saw them as stories and individuals, but mostly because he was an astronomer, yet he would always tell me of the same stories, mostly Pieces. Most nights, us two would set up camp in the backyard near the forest and watch the stars together, where he would point at different stars like I could see exactly which one he was speaking of and tell me the next time that star would be back at the position in the sky. Of course, I couldn't prove him right or wrong on his predictions considering each star looks nearly exactly a like, but at the time I thought that it was amazing how much he knew about something that didn't talk back.

My mother, on the other hand, was more into teaching me how to cook, even though I never paid attention but still ate almost all the food. While we would eat dinner together, my dad would make constellations out of the different food bits left over on his plate, but my mother would slap him on the wrist like she did me when I played with my food. Unlike my father, she was into keeping things organized, from the cookbooks lining the shelves she hand painted to the curls in her dried hair. Any form of mess would give her a heart attack and a shock of joy at the same time because a mess was a mess, but she still had something to clean up. Considering the current state of my bookbag, I'm guessing she was going to ground me for a week but make that homemade cake thing she makes when we go to visit family.

The idea of cake became spoiled fast after being nearly drugged by an overdose of maple syrup. Somehow, keeping a glass container of it in my backpack stopped being the great idea it seemed to be when I packed it in there this morning. Leaving the entire mess of broken shards of glass and syrup on the floor seemed appealing, considering it was Mr. Woolsley's room, but I'd rather just rub some of his precious biology textbooks in the mess first. I had almost gotten away with soaking a book in the stuff before one of the girls in my class came over to me.

"Hi, do you need help with that?"

I couldn't pinpoint her name, mostly because I didn't know she could with mine. Then again, with my popularity with some of these dickbags, I guess it wasn't too difficult to figure out. I narrowed it down to Daisy before she started up to get help from Mr. Woolsley.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Daisy."

Honestly, I said her name quiet compared to the rest of the sentence because I wasn't quite sure if it was Daisy or Maisy, or something in the likes. Still, getting Mr. Woolsley and his one eyebrow over to assist clean up his classroom seemed like the opposite of a safe idea. Luckily, the behemoth himself hadn't realized my current predicament meaning I had time to either clean it up, or evacuate. Although, for some reason, letting the mess sit there until his next class seemed oddly satisfying.

"Do you think we could get away with leaving it here?"