What You Don't Know Can't Hurt You

Part 1

            It was just past dawn when the sun rose up in the east, letting a subtle glow shine into Abigail's room. She lifted her pillow above her head and groaned softly. Abigail's hands felt frail and her feet were weak. "Nothing could persuade me to lift myself from this bed," she whispered to herself after she rolled over away from the beaming sun. Although she was sweaty all over her body from the heavy sheets covering her, Abigail pulled them closer to her chest. With a loud bang, the door shot open. A booming voice echoed around her,

"Hands in the air! I wanna see them," slowly, Abigail sat up with her eyes still shut and her hair looking like a rat's nest.

"Pick yourself up out of the bed and to the ground. Now!" Instead of listening, she shrugged her shoulders and mumbled,

"If my death is meant to be for not departing from my bed, then so be it," Abigail collapsed and drifted off to sleep again. Footsteps approached the foot of her bed.

"Come on Abbie," the voice complained, "it is just about nine."

"Would you look at that? I have almost ignored you for the whole morning," she said sarcastically. A hand shook her shoulders softly. Abigail lifted one eyelid. In the corner of her eye, she could see a young boy, in his late teens at the most, wearing a navy sweatshirt and freckles painted over his face.

"Do I have to go?" She asked hopefully. The boy smirked and held out a hand.

"Father doesn't appreciate your hard training for staying in bed all day." Rolling her eyes, Abigail took his hand and stepped out of her heavenly bed.

"Nice pajamas you have yourself there," she looked down and saw the old Beatles shirt and too long of baggy pants she was wearing.

"Shut up Liam," she scolded at him sticking her tongue out. He lightly chuckled at her and then strolled out of her room.

Abigail opened her closet and moved around some shirts. She grabbed a grey tank, a long knitted sweater and white shorts. When she glanced at herself in the mirror, Abigail gave a disgusted look. Her ginger locks were no longer locks, but one large ball on the top of her head. She took out a brush and tried taming the mess. Once she was satisfied, Abigail left the room closing the door silently.

Walking down the stairs, the smell of burnt toast wisped past her nose, leaving her face scrunched up. All of the kitchen was a mess. Red wooden chairs were out from under the table, window curtains had fallen to the ground and poached eggs scattered across the checkered floors. Abigail walked on her toes to the island and jumped up.

"How delightful," she mumbled. Out of the smoke emerged a large man with a scruffy beard. He had to duck his head from hitting the shallow ceiling.

"You give it a shot, how 'bout," Abigail scoffed.

"Hand over the pan old man," the large man did as told. He picked up a chair and watched her cook away.

"How was yer years long rest Sleepin' Beauty?"

"Pretty good. However, instead of being woken up by prince charming, I was woken by an ugly ogre."

"You saw an ogre?" A small voice squeaked. Abigail looked around and saw a short toddler in a dirty pair of overalls with bright red rain boots. She went on her knees and picked the young child up and sat her on the counter.

"Well I saw Liam in the horrid navy blue sweatshirt of his and that is about the same thing I think," the younger girl giggled.

"You should not laugh at her stupid jokes Rosey," Liam entered through the back door, "Abigail is just jealous only one of us took in the good looks of the family." Abigail smirked.