The Still

Chapter 2

What I've heard from older people, is that the early morning, and mornings in general, were extremely beautiful. The sun casts a golden glow on the objects it reached out to skim through the blinds. Everything was seemingly still, no pun intended, but alive at the same time, again, no pun, and apparently, there was a certain feeling of untouchable serenity that permeated through the air.

So based on this, one thing is extremely obvious about this deduction.

These people who told me this, Mr and Mrs. Carlisle are extremely old, because morning's are an absolutely hellish experience.

A morning in the Ritter household especially is not fun. To put it into a reasonable proportion for, you the mornings here are what prevent me from having any sleepovers, because well.

There is no other reason.

My frustrating morning wake up calls revolve around a loud, acute noise, an uncomfortable temperature, either to hot or to cold, or an annoying older brother who decided to shake me to death. After that I roll, or fall, straight to the floor, either face first or splat on my 'rear end'. From whatever position I'm in, I move into arm army crawl and take the party from my bedroom to the bathroom, cause its a 'fun' way to get physical activity. Due to the fact I have no energy, I fall asleep when I fall to the floor tiles of the bathroom because it's ' fairly convenient for an 18 year old girl'.

From there the middle child of the Ritter household, who is my older brother, Sam, could gently wake me up and help me to feet, because he is the nicest, most mature man I've ever met. Yeah, I'm the youngest. Sam has dark brown hair and sweet hazel eyes that makes you want to tell him everything, which is paired nicely with an oval face. Or the worst option that could happen is Devine, the oldest out of the tree Ritter children, with sandy blond hair, green eyes similar to mine that piss people off, and a weird square jaw, could end up almost killing me in my sleep.

After both options I brush my teeth, shower, do 40 push ups, 30 crunches, a wall sit until I feel like stopping, the usual morning lineup.

You may find this strange, but in the mornings, I don't stare at my self and make duck faces in the mirror. I only look at my self to brush my teeth, wash my face, and put a bit of concealer and brush my eyebrows into something not resembling an African Bush. The African Bush looks very different now that it's Stilled, you should check it out. But makeup isn't a necessity, and if you have to wear it, its only for special events, which will probably happen once a year-ish

Yeah, once a year-ish.

All there is to me is silky, medium length brown hair, piercing green eyes, pink lips, a nose piercing and a girl with a lot of lean muscle, but not enough to make men run to the hills, unfortunately. Not much.

The government wants us not to care about personal appearance, a nonchalant opinion about yourself is valued here. The standard here is that you could be the most gorgeous person on planet earth and it really shouldn't be considered important, in fact it gives you more of a reason not to care. If you do care about how you look, in a school environment, you're envied, or given a reason to care about your appearance, for instance a split lip, a broken nose, or my personal favorite the broken jaw.

Today is Friday and this whole morning ritual is in preparation for school. So after brushing my teeth and stuff, I go downstairs to face my mom, Cymbeline Acamndean.

If you meet her you'd swear she was a dude or something not feminine. She has black hair that she periodically dyes and cuts short into a bob style, eerily light blue eyes, piercings all over her face, and extremely pale skin with enough scars to rival the moon. That's not what would give the impression of a man though, because my cousin Gennie has similar features. You could mistake her for a dude because of her extremely athletic build, I know I have once or twice. She has muscle everywhere.