They Say That In The Army

Chapter 1 - the beginning

Picture of Serenity on the right -------------------->

The sun peaks through my blinds and I groan not wanting to part with my escape. But with each new ray I know that I will have to get up soon. 

"Serenity...I need your help," my mother screams from downstairs. I groan again but quickly get up and go downstairs. Throughout the years I have learned that it is less painful that way.

As I come into the kitchen I can smell the breakfast on the stove, eggs and potatoes, our usual. My mother turns around and says, "oh good you're here...can you take over for me," as she holds out the spatula.

For a couple seconds I stand there staring at her taking in her new appearance. Her once tight tanned skin is now pale and saggy, her long, silky, brown hair is in a huge knot on top of her head, her once stong, fit body is now slumping and beginning to lose the confident posture with each passing second and her beautiful, deep blue eyes that seemed to sparkle like sapphires in the sun are now dull and bloodshot-

Wait bloodshot... what does this mean?... 

Obviously I know it means she has been crying because along with her red eyes she has tear stains on her cheeks, but this is not normal. 

I take the spatula out of her hand and begin flipping the eggs, trying to push away all of the thoughts that are now bombarding my brain. 

You see, up here in the Northern region crying is looked down upon. It is a social abnormality that should be dealt with privately with no evidence left behind. The people here believe that it shows weakness and that you should not even be alive if you needed to cry in order to cope with life. They think that you should be burned at the stake for making our region look puny and defenseless in this time of war. 

So what is going on?

The radio is playing in the background and I have to strain my ears in order to hear what it is talking about. When I find out that it is only the weather I move back to my eggs.

I watch them sizzle and bubble trying desperately to distract myself, but it is not working very well.

When they finish I scrap most of them on to my father's plate and bring it to him in the living room. 

"Here," I say in an uncomfortable manner.

He grabs the eggs and says nothing in return. He picks up his spoon, scoops up the biggest spoonful that he can and then shoves it in his mouth. The eggs fail to all fit and some fall out of his mouth so he looks like a pig who has not eaten in years. I turn away in disgust and head back to the kitchen. I make my mother's plate next using the rest of eggs and potatoes and planning to make something else for myself.  When I bring her her plate though she says that she does not want it and she feels sick or something I do not pay attention to it anymore. It all seems to fade into the same thing, "I'm not hungry", "I already ate", "I don't feel well". I just cannot help her anymore. 

I walk back into the kitchen with her plate still in my hand, sit down at the table and begin eating. I tune back into the radio trying to keep away from my thoughts. The announcer is now moving on to his daily routine of naming the people who have died in the past week do to war. This is my least favourite part of the day but at the moment anything is better then my thoughts.

I listen as the announcer goes through his long list of names like they are nothing, like he is calling people up to get some kind of award. It is disgusting how happily he talks about their death.

" Sillia Taillor, Misty Tait, Mark Tendo..." he says in a more then cheerful tone, " ...Micheal Titori..." 

I freeze mid-bite as the realization creeps into my brain. 

...This can't be happening to me...