How Death Felt

1. Not Lilliana

Alright, Just one more and...

"LILLIANAA? LILY? LILZY PILZYYYY??" I inwardly cringed at the names, which, mind you, weren't even mine. Except for one, I guess.

"Coming!!" I responded, knowing I had been interrupted once again for literally nothing.

"Oh, you're finally here. Do you know how long I've been waiting down here?'' Katy scolded.

Katherine Anne was one of my close friends. She was one of the only people who didn't entirely dismiss my existence. She's nearby, so she occasionally drops by my house to chat.

"Let me guess, five seconds?" I snickered.

"She has been waiting for over an hour young lady." my mother yelled from the kitchen.

I gasped in shock. An hour? Why didn't she call me?

"Why didn't you call me?" I voiced my thoughts.

"Well, I figured you should finish your painting before coming down. I didn't know it was going to take that long," she responded.

"Aw, I'm sorry. How can I be of help?" I asked as we both started approaching the living room.

I motioned for her to sit down on one of the sofas.

"Well," she started, "I'm here to tell you something. Something I think you'd like very much."

I frowned. How would you know what I'd like?

"Oh? What is it?" I asked nonetheless.

"Well, Frank over there told me you were looking for some references for your next big painting. " Frank? My father, who doesn't like or support what I do?

"Papa told you that?" I asked with visible confusion.

"Yeah. Well, you know about the manor on the west coast, right?" she asked.

"I do, but I've heard they don't let anyone near there. Something to do with the owner, I heard." I responded.

"Well, Frank told me you've been trying to go there for your references. I think I could help you a little with that."

I frowned again. What is up with Papa? I first discussed my interests with my friend, then told her about the place he specifically told me not to go to.

"Okay, and?" I urged her to continue.

"Well, guess what? The people who were in charge of the manor hired my uncle as a security guard. I talked him into letting us go in there!" She exclaimed enthusiastically.

Wait, what?

"What?" I asked again, making sure I heard her right.

"You heard me. We're going to the manor, baby," she said with a laugh.

"Wow, seriously? That's amazing. Thank you, Katy, I appreciate it." I exclaimed with sincere gratitude.

"Oh, come on, don't be so formal now. Go and get ready," she ordered.

"Hey Katy, would it be okay if we postponed our plans until tomorrow? I've spent the last five hours painting, and every muscle in my body is aching."

"Of course, I'll pick you up from here tomorrow afternoon. What do you say?" She asked.

"Perfect," I answered.

"Alright then, see you tomorrow!" she said with a smile.

I just smiled in return, guided her to the front door, and thanked her again before closing it.

Whew. That was something.

I went into the kitchen looking for my mother but couldn't find her. Nope, not in her bedroom either.

"MOM!!" I shouted, hoping she would hear me.

"Here!" she shouted back. "In the basement."

"Oh, for God's sake, what are you doing in this Satan's den again?" I asked as I descended the stairs.

"I'm looking for your father's shoe polish. Something is seriously wrong with that man. He keeps losing stuff and then blames everyone around him," she huffed angrily.

I laughed inwardly at her face, which was red with anger. I knew all too well about my father's forgetfulness and tendency to misplace things. It was always a source of frustration for my mother, but also a constant source of amusement for me.

"Speaking of Papa, what is up with him?" I asked.

"Why?" she asked me back.

"Well, he talked to Katy about the manor. The one where he wouldn't let me go even if someone held a gun to his head. And I think her asking her supposed uncle for an entry also has something to do with him. Since when did he start showing interest in my hobbies?" I asked with annoyance clear in my voice.

"Honey, your father might not show it. But he loves you dearly." I rolled my eyes.

Yeah, right.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady. He cares for you, and you know it. With your birthday coming up, he figured he could at least do that much for you," she said.

Wow. Really?

"That's nice," I said, feeling a bit confused but grateful for the sentiment.

"No, that's excellent. Now go to your room, and for the love of God, please change your paint-smeared dress. I think I got cancer just by looking at that."

I sighed and made my way to my room, feeling both annoyed and grateful to my father. As I changed out of my cancerous dress, I couldn't help but wonder if my father's sudden act of kindness was genuine or just a way to ease his guilt. Nonetheless, the conflicting emotions swirling inside me made it difficult to fully appreciate his gesture.

Nevertheless, I was half excited and half terrified of tomorrow. The purpose of visiting that manor was never just me wanting some references. It was much, much more than that. Jesus, take the wheel, and please don't crash it.

Welp, here's the first chapter. Open for constructive criticism.

Could you please let me know your preferences and how you would like them carried out?