End World: Volume One

Chapter 1 - To You, Past and Posterity

Mornings at Sefara's house were on the quiet side. Early light cast nostalgic patches on a round interior. It revealed the few picture frames on the curved walls and the welcomed paraphernalia of a house in excess. And yet, the light had also managed to conceal much detail in shadow, obscuring the contents of the paintings and making homely trinkets and appliances strange. Sefara was tying her short braids in her bedroom mirror, a black hairband hung loosely between her lips. Although she'd lived here for the better half of her short life, she knew very little about the items of this house and to whom they belonged to. Even after six years, she felt quite the stranger in her own home.

For breakfast, Sefara had set a plate and cutlery for one on the small dining table in the kitchen. She hummed a tune whilst frying the bacon, oil splattered and popped as she did so. Then, holding the pan dangerously close to her precious face, she stalked towards the dining table.

Having successfully prepared herself a breakfast of sunny-side-up eggs and bacon, she was ready to devour it. However, something was missing and she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

There was a knock on the kitchen door. Right on time, she had nearly forgotten. Sefara got up and grabbed the empty milk bottle she had left on the counter. Another knock, impatient. Sefara stood by the door about to open it, the bottle in hand. She opened the door, interrupting the third knock. Outside stood a boy with short thick dreads. He had an annoyed look about him that softened only a little when he saw her. This was not who she had been expecting. 

"About time!" the boy said. He was twelve just like Sefara was, but at times he tended to behave as though he was her mother. This was not one of those times.

Sefara stood there confused and oddly disappointed. Who had she been expecting? The answer seemed obvious and yet it continued to elude her.

"What's with the milk bottle?" Khaya teased, "You think I'm the milkman?"

Khaya... that's right. Khaya had been Sefara's best friend ever since she had learned the word. And yet, another name drifted across her mind, just out of reach. Her memory offered respite as sleep did an insomniac. "Baker's boy is more like it," she replied.

Refusing to accept her energy, Khaya postured like a daring adventurer:

"Are you ready for a day you'll never forget?"

Moments later and Khaya had pulled Sefara by the arm as he trudged away from the house. Sefara bore a mixture of surprise and mild panic as she was uprooted from her home and her contemplative if not altogether depressed mood. Khaya did not allow her complaints or pleas to affect his spearheaded determination. "Come on!" he ordered, "There's no time to waste!" Sefara, barely coping with his march, "W-Wait! Okay, okay. Don't pull my arm off!"

Still moving nigh on barreling, Khaya looked back at Sefara with that contagious smirk of his. It tended to eat away at all ill feelings.

Sefara and Khaya walked side-by-side on the dirt road. Vast yellowing fields on either side with only a few houses about them. Sefara had her head down, exasperated, while Khaya maintained his smirk. Sefara decidedly stopped walking, "Some Peacekeeper you are, bullying a defenceless girl," she sulked. Khaya, neither stopping nor looking back, "You? Defenceless?" Sefara raised her head, a broad smile across her face. The two friends continued their walk, side-by-side.

"What makes today so special anyway?" Sefara asked.

"Does a day need to be special, to be memorable?" Khaya countered.

"Duh," Sefara admitted.

"In that case, every day should be special," Khaya concluded.

Sefara pondered on the idea for a moment before responding. After careful deliberation, she concluded,