at the butt-crack of dawn

not quite one

THIS STORY begins like no other;

not with the main character's name, not with her screeching some profound vulgarity at the sky, not with loud club music smothering out people's senses.

Nope. None of that.

It begins like a boring beginning to the rather boring life of Elizabeth Chang, who is currently slogging through her literature homework and sucking the eraser tip of her pencil. Rows of neat handwriting are blurring her eyes, and she rubs them belligerently, willing herself to stay awake. Doing lit homework at 4pm on a sunny day, with your curtains closed and having a no-music-allowed-while-studying mom, makes her boring history teacher's droning voice even more exciting.

"Posture, Elizabeth! Straight back--now!" Elizabeth groans as her name comes out pinched and sharp from her mother's lips, and forces herself to sit rigid on the chair, her knuckles turning white from gripping the pen. It seems like an old-fashioned story set in the Victorian age, but really, it's just her mother being her mother, and would Elizabeth really be wearing a pair of men's basketball shorts and a stained T-shirt during the Victorias?

"No", she murmurs, "Shakespeare did not frigging intend for the two lovers to die, it was more like...and afterthought. An afterthought to an otherwise average love-story. With a little blood, of course." She leaves out the word frigging and caps her pen, then throws it against the wall. Her mother has gone down to make dinner or whatever she usually does at this time, and her dad has been on a business trip for a week; another week more to go. A younger, annoying brother would usually be present at this time, but day-care keeps her day Milton-free.

"Freak?" She asks, picking up on the first ring.

"Sleaze?"

"Shut up, Mae! I called you a freak, something way higher than the ranks of a female who bares her body and sleeps with a shitload of people--"

"Alright, alright, enough with the descript-toe, kiddo."

"Just because you're short does not mean that every time, you feel the need to mentally shrink me to make me your somewhat child." 

Elizabeth can hear Mae gag on the other line, "Who says you're my child? That would be dis-guh-sting, bro, I would be ashamed to have a daughter like you." Said child rolls her eyes, checks to see if the coast is mom-clear, and flops on her bed, pages of her essay fluttering by the ceiling fan. "Shut up."

"Shut down! Burn."

"Burning your arse on the--OHMYGOD! MAE!" On the other line, Mae sits up. 'You finally agree to the magic of push-up bras or...?" Elizabeth rolls her eyes. Why are her friends (fine, she only has one), always thinking about boobs and butt and hair? She skims her own reflection on the iPhone, cracking a half-smile when she sees the two pimples forming and the utterly messy bush of hair.

"No, you shithead. BURNING YOUR ARSE, ROASTING YO BOOTY, on the hot coals of SHAME AND FLAME." Yes, this is Franklin-Green High's council president when she's high on Cheetos.

"What the fu--"

"Roasted! iHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHhhaaa...? Hahaha?" Elizabeth's laugh peters off as she realizes another pun that can be made, extending the sentence dramatically until two paragraphs of how she will "roast" and "burn" Mae, are born.

"Alright, alright. Enough. You twat."

"Stop pretending to be British, Mae. You know I can't stand girls who fawn over Brits."