Brooklyn's Inner Soul

Glowing Pancakes?

"What?" I asked, out loud. My voice was shaking, but I was extremely puzzled.

"This is what I was waiting for?" I ask, shaking my head this time. I looked up at my chipped white ceiling and asked, "Is this a sign?" No answer, like always.

I am sitting in my room. It is fairly small and boxy, and I am sure it was a guest house before I came to the Jones' household. Great, i think dimly, I am already calling them "The Jones." The room was painted a pale blue. I have a small twin bed that gets very cold in the winter. I didn't have many belongings when you thought about it. A old flip phone with a bad keyboard, a small iPod shuffle without a screen, a few blankets, a IPad with a smart cover, and a magazine subscription. I bought all of it with the money I earn doing chores and from Christmas. This month is October, so there is a slight chill. I am still not sure if my room has heating, which is easily questionable.

"Message box..." i murmured quietly. They couldnt mean the letter could they? It is not exactly a box. And what is a change is power? Is it, like, politics? I wondered a few more seconds to myself before heading downstairs. I opened my old creaky door and stomped on the steps to the ground floor.

My parents greeted me evenly over a newspaper and up of coffee. I responded with a distant, "yeah, goodmorning." Dad looked at me and said in his deep, rumbly voice, "What is the matter, Harper?" He stared me right in the eye, too. I decided not to tell them about the letter. "Bad sleep." I responded idiotically. He nodded his thick head before continuing his reading. Mom advanced now, "Dear, is it about your parents?" I couldn't meet her eyes. I knew what I would see. The cold clarity of her icy blue accepting that she was right. "No." I mumbled finally. "Can I please be excused?" i desparetly said. I can not take anymore 20 questions. "No, no, no." laughted my father. I stare in shock at him. "You haven't ate breakfast yet, and I intend that you do." he explained. I relaxed visibly. "What is it?" I say, happily. Mom told me pancakes. I almost leaped with joy. Pancakes! I went over to the plate in the middle with seven or eight of 'em stacked up. I grab four unto my plate and grab the syrup bottle. I douse them with it, but no overdoing it.

I headed upstairs. I giddily began to chew while sitting on the matted rug floor. Where ever I touched, the pancake turned a yellow golden color insted of it's original golden brown. I poke a different spot and it had the same reaction. A fingerprint of yellow gold. I tasted it, but it tasted normal. Maybe a little too syrupy, but that doesn't matter. I quickly finish and throw it out in the upstair's bathroom waste bin. I wash my hands and go back in the room.

There was a light glowing from me. I lifted my shirt to reveal my stomach. I put my hand to my mouth to muffle my screams. A section of my stomach was glowing sinisterly. It almost seemed beautiful. It didn't hurt, but felt a little shivery. I watch it shift. Its rich yellow light mixing with the soft light of dawn. Change in power! I almost squeaked. I reached for my letter. Carefully watching the glow shine through my gray shirt. The letter won't open. Where is the message box? The glow was staining my skin now. It is dimming fast also. My letters words changed:

"Harper Jones",

Your message box,

That you seem unable to find,

Is near the floor,

But none too high.

In a deep corner,

In the back,

Is where you may find,

Your message box.

The messengers of the council.