War on Kitaris

Chapter 1 - Regular Rose, Right?

Hi, my name is Rosalie Thornton, and I am born with the world's most ironic name; since I hate the name Rosalie, I turned it into Rose. So yes, my name is Rose Thornton.

Don't even try to make a joke out of it because I've heard it all before. But really, I'm just a plain old teenage Rose. I'm pretty much just a mixture of mood-swings, ice-cream cravings, overdue assignments and Gossip Girl reruns. I'm basically everything you'd expect from a stereotypical teenage girl, plus or minus a few important details. But I'll get to those later.

"Rose! It's wakey-wakey time!"

Translation: Rose, it's time to get up and go to hell. Hell = school. I rolled over in my irresistibly comfortable bed and stared at my death sentence - my alarm clock. Personally, 7:00 was way too early to be waking up in the mornings, but my 'close-enough' mother Jane worked full-time and was adamant that me and my little 'close-enough' brother ate breakfast every morning.

"I'm up!" I shouted back, knowing that she wouldn't believe I was awake until she heard my voice. No answer. Smiling, I pulled back my covers and sauntered towards my wardrobe.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the, I'm-sort-of-normal-but-not-really-it's-really-weird talk. Let's just put it this way — everything about me is regular, it's just when I get angry I don't shout, instead...light-bulbs flicker, windows crack, and the occasional indoor wind that shouldn't blow, may blow. You've never gotten those? Well, then you don't live near me.

 I picked up a pair of shorts. I shook my head; nah, it's not warm enough to wear shorts yet. My pair of ripped jeans may be more convenient. Are they clean? Oh yes, they are. I slipped them on.

Anyway, here I go again. I'm normal, yes, except when I touch someone's skin and close my eyes, instead of seeing nothing, I see pictures or memories from that person. That's not normal, I know, but I'm used to it; I've been able to do it ever since I was little.

And yeah, I'm normal, but I may or may not have seen a house on fire in my dreams and the next day, one of my neighbour's houses was on fire. And this may or may not happen quite often, and not just with house fires, but with storms and earthquakes and floods and droughts.

Yeah, like I said, completely normal, right?

"Rose, your tiny little butt better be downstairs in ten minutes or I'll give your pancakes to Tom!" Jane, my sort-of mother shouted. Hearing that, I threw on a shirt with the name of a band that I've never heard of before on it, my favourite pair of green Converse, and jumped over my pile of clothes to my mirror. By the way, Tom is my sort-of-brother.

Once I looked into the mirror, I realized another thing that isn't exactly normal — my eyes.

Okay, my eyes are normal, except they're violet. More of a purple, actually. Maybe an indigo. That's normal, right? Yeah? Okay, I get it, it's not. That's why I wear contacts to make my eyes look regular, plain old blue.

At least that matches my light-blonde hair that reaches my waist. And my pale skin.

I put in my contacts that made my eyes look normal, tied up my long hair into a ponytail, picked up my regular Nike bag filled with books of my regular subjects at my regular school called Bemoro High, walked out of my messy room that I should probably clean when I get home, and made my way downstairs.

Jane was standing in the kitchen, flipping delicious-smelling pancakes and putting them on two plates for me and Tom. The little bugger ran from behind me and gripped onto my stomach tightly.

"Rose, I'm a monkey!" he exclaimed, his chocolate brown eyes shining. He grinned, and it showed his two front teeth missing. He lost them last week, when he fell off the monkey bars at his school playground. I messed his curly brown hair with my hands and sat down at the stool at the bench.