769 words ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
"Home early today?" I'm welcomed into the tiny apartment by the voice of my twin brother, Beck.
"Yeah. My shift was short today, but I need to go back tomorrow evening. We're catering." I lie. Beck hobbles over to me, attempting to help me with my backpack.
"Your foot's getting worse. Stay in your wheelchair." I command. The bones in Beck's ankle are severely twisted, so he's pretty stationary. He isn't aware of the fact that I'm a pro assassin, I just convinced him that I work as a waitress at this high end restaurant. He winces in pain, interrupting my thoughts. I pull an ice pack out of the freezer for him, and we spend the rest of the evening eating Hot Pockets and talking.
"Off to bed now." Beck yawns, stretching out his arms. "Good night, Emmy." I smile at the sound of the childhood nickname. "Good night, Beck." I reply as he maneuvers his way toward his bedroom. Suddenly, I see a small object slip out of his pocket and flutter to the ground. I wait until he's gone to pick it up.
It's a photograph,carefully folded up into a tiny wad. A cold pang of sadness shoots through my body, as I examine it. There's my parents, Beck, and I at the beach when we were toddlers. Mom and Dad look happy and carefree, a casual glance could never detect who they are now. The wind is whipping through my wild red curls, and I'm smiling for once. Beck is blurry, I remember him trying to run away as Dad took the picture. It's depressing seeing him cooped up in his wheelchair, when you know how active and energetic he was as a child. A lump forms in my throat, and I can feel my eyes brimming with tears. Mom was diagnosed with advanced stage liver cancer when I was fourteen.
She passed away the year after, and that was when Dad started drinking. He used to go into these random violent outbursts of rage, and that was how Beck's ankle problems began. Dad pretty much abandoned Beck and I when we turned sixteen, demolishing any chance of us attending college. As I wiped away my hot tears, I wonder why Beck would keep the picture. He's always been the more forgiving one, but what Dad did to him was totally unacceptable. I climb into bed, and slowly, quietly, cry myself to sleep.
The next evening, I leave the building for my assignment. The New York City subway transports me to Majestueux Hotel. The crowded street is milling with hundreds of people dressed in their warmest winter clothing. I eventually weave through the crowd, reaching the front in no time. The cloudy gray sky is releasing snowflakes onto the bleak looking sidewalk. The twenty foot tall double doors swing open, allowing in a swarm of nearly three hundred people. As I made it inside, Lilth sees me and drags me toward a dressing room.
"What were you thinking!?" She scolds,motioning at my black hoodie and jeans. "You need to blend in, and green is the hottest color this year." Lilith rummages through a trunk, removing a sleeveless, knee length, lime green dress. I pulled it on, and goosebumps erupt almost immediately on my bare legs.
"So, where do I stay during the banquet?" I ask, as one of Lilith's maids does my hair. "When you feel the vibration from your computerized bracelet-" she slips one onto my wrist. "That means he's near you. Make sure you're with the drinks table." I nod, taking in every word she's saying. "Students often volunteer to help serve beverages as a respectful gesture. Right before you pass it to him, dump this in there." Lilth presses a tiny glass vial with a silver cap into my hand.
"Good luck, Ember." I wave, and venture off into the crowd. "Hey, can I help you guys out?" I ask a group of six college students at the drinks table. "Sure, why not?" responds a blond girl. I secure the last spot in line, meaning that I'll be the last person to touch the glass. For the next hour, we serve people their beverages. Suddenly, I feel my bracelet vibrate. There are two men standing at the front of the line. Which one? I frantically wondered. One of them looked exceedingly familiar. He had dark brown hair, green eyes, high cheekbones, and a layer of stubble on his chin. The realization hits me like a bus. I had seen his face before. He looked very similar to Beck.
The man was my father.
A/N: The word choice is terrible & 7th grade me used the cliche unsuspecting plot twist as a vehicle to carry out this low quality story. I didn't even know that there was still a copy of this in existence until I saw pjsuperfan and jxnnyl reading it today. That is why you don't send a copy of your shitty story to your friend who NEVER deletes documents.
