|
|
|
Darshia stumbled out of her bed, eight years aged, gracefully however, and as she tripped on the last step of her staircase, landing on her face and knocking all the air out of her, she knew in her mind that this was going to be a good day.
She was taking her "son" to the mall.
Now, she didn't have a real son. He wasn't her very own flesh and blood, but her rich foster parents had known a family who knew another family who had a relative who was married into this other family who had business meeting with a family who bore a drug addict cousin of sorts whose child needed and escape.
Somewhere deep in her mind, she wondered how, and why, exactly her life was based on the knowledge of other families. It enthralled her.
This was a small, small world she inhabited.
Distracted by her thoughts, she didn't notice the random black slipper that was taking up space in her routine path to the kitchen. This lack of early morning observation lead to her slipping on said (evil) slipper, landing once more on her red face, breathless.
A childish chuckle was faintly uttered from the doorway to Darshia's destination.
Leaning against the wall was a not so tanned, scrawny ten year old with a smart a** attitude and a taste for mischief. He had short-ish black hair and cat-like hazel eyes.
"Be quiet!" She squeaked in her undignified morning voice, "I'm older, and stronger-" here came another laugh from the kid," - and I'm not a morning person!" She gave him a sleepy glare.
"Want some coffe?" He asked, still mocking her.
"Nooooooo..." She stood up and walked proudly passed him into the kitchen, "I dun drink coffee."
He rolled his eyes when she stuck her tongue out at him, "That's real mature." he said sarcastically.
"Says you, the kid who knew how to make spaghetti at the age of three." She retorted, sitting on the counter with an apple in her hand. She didn't have any intention of actually eating it, but pretending she did was a die hard habit for her.
"Only because I had too!" His never took her insults to heart. He knew she was nice, but he was so used to being heckled, that this became their morning tradition.
"Doesn't mean you have to prove your worth here." She replied in a matter-of-factly voice.
"Wasn't hard." He remarked, his eyes narrowed in a chesire smirk, "It's not like you could do better."
"Because I like take-out!" She huffed.
"That makes one of us."
"And besides, almost anyone can make spaghetti! It's not like it's hard."
"Whatever, you struggle so much with it! Oh wait, you like challenges."
"I hate you." She said, jokingly. Smiling and shaking her head, she put the apple down and got off the counter.
"The feeling's is quite mutual."
 euya · Sat Feb 02, 2008 @ 07:47am · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
