A Million Angles

Tomorrow there will be no pancakes...

Tomorrows going to be different and I don't like different. I like things the same. The same like dad and I. The same like peas in pod and chips off old blocks. The same like our dark curly hair, like our gunmetal grey eyes, like the little dimple on our chins. It's too do with pancakes too. My dad is the pancake King and I'm the pancake princess, that's what mum and Jake say, and every Sunday while we're waiting for them to get out of bed we make a whole castle full of pancakes, and some how end up eating them all! I have the best dad in the whole entire world! But tomorrow we won't have pancakes because my dad will be gone. The stars are bright tonight. Glittering bursts of silver shining through midnight blue. But grey clouds are grumbling across the horizon. Rolling across the moon. Rubbing out all the stars, and the wind is whisking up a storm that's sweating under my skin and heating me up with fear. I've tried sleeping, but every time I drift off a huge eagle with sharp claws swoops down and drags me back. Then worrying images of bombs exploding everything to pieces. I'm trying so hard to rub them out of my brain so my brain is blank, but it's impossible to stop them. If only there was something I could do.