I Don't Know The Name Yet

Prologue

I feel sick. My brain is twisting and churning in a million different ways and the soft buzz of the fan in Leo's room is flooding my ears. I see my mom's curtailed-height shadow against the wall outside my room and sit up.

"Hey, how was soccer?" asks Mom, opening up the door more and entering, shutting it behind her. She had changed out of her strict work attire and had hopped into her comfy suit-- a bright pink onesie, a high bun, and leftover makeup.

"Mom, I really don't feel good, and I don't know what to do. I didn't eat anything since the afternoon. And soccer was fun, by the way," I answered, turning to the other side and covering my blanket over my face. "We won 7-3," I mumbled.

Mom looked up at me with furrowed eyebrows, and a face of concern.

"Just get yourself some well-deserved sleep, and I'll make you peppermint tea tomorrow morning before school."

"Wake me up early tomorrow please," I muffled, right before I drifted into a deep sleep, knowing that she heard me. Just knowing.

*          *          *

I wake up. The first thing I realize is that it is NOT early. In fact, I check the time to see that it's 6:30; ten 'til the bus comes. I stumble out of bed and accidentally step on Simba's tail, who was meowing for food, as he normally does in the mornings.

I ruffled his fur and kissed him on the forehead before I left the room to investigate why everything felt so... wrong today. Why the heck did Mom not wake me up? I thought. Usually, Mom wakes up 30 minutes before me, with her repetitive alarms that are scattered around the house--which are about as loud as the voice of an auctioneer. Of course, she only wakes up this early on Wednesdays and Fridays --for her job-- other wise, she wakes up around when I'm probably eating lunch time.

I hear a fainted beeping sound. I recognized that as my 16 years old brother, Johns', alarm... yet he was supposed to be awake 10 minutes ago. What the heck, what's up with everyone not waking up? I scuffle to Mom and Dad's room, still tired, to find a bed unmade, empty bathroom, and no Mom or Dad.

I turn around, and scuffle to John's room. The door is slightly open. I step in. No sign of John either. Kind of confused, I sprint to my youngest brother, Leo, who's sevens', room. I burst open the door, and then relief spreading throughout my body. He's sleeping, probably in a pleasant dream, with his Star Wars blanket across his legs, and drool falling from his open mouth. Being a middle child at the age of 13, love for your siblings are not expected, but when I am in a situation where nothing makes sense, (and I am also the person to jump to horrible conclusions), I regret every second of arguing with my brothers.

Next stop-- downstairs. I exit Leo's room, tip-toeing, afraid to awake Leo, or to disturb Mom and Dad, (wherever they are). I walk slowly down the staircase, cautious not to step on a Lego, and suddenly, I hear a shriek escape me. I don't feel anything. Anything at all. I feel tears run down my cheekbone, touching the tip of my mouth slightly, and tasting salt.