There's a beauty in silence. A beauty in not speaking. The action itself speaks louder than words. To just listen, to feel and observe before it all slips away. I find myself doing it every morning by chance; it's become a routine. Rays from the sun slowly creep in tinting my room with orange and warming my skin. I wish I can stay in bed forever but I need to get up.
I internally fight with myself to stand, but once I do I waste no time to grab my everyday uniform: white tank, black cargos, and boots. Quickly I get dressed and carry out my basic morning routine. Walking back to my dresser I admire an old picture of my father and I. My heart strings tighten for a moment; just like the other hundred times it does when I look at a picture of him or even think of him. He died when I was seven, when I hurt the most. That year was like rain everyday: dark and gloomy. I'd like to believe I have no tears left. I try not to think of him through out the day; but at night he finds his way back in my mind every time I close my eyes. Good and bad memories, I take them all.
Who ever killed him is still out there. They're alive and breathing in this toxic air. The child in me, the know it all, has a mission to track down this man to finish the job myself. I know that isn't realistic as much as I daydream about it.
I just wanna know who he is and why. Maybe then I can get proper justice for my father. Our perhaps what I really seek is proper closure. I kiss my thumb and place it on my fathers face. "I love you." I whisper, grabbing my boots and walking out of my room. The forgiving smell of my mothers breakfast fills my nose. I take it in and walk down our cold metal stairs a little faster.
"Good morning."
"Oh! Look who's up." She beams flashing her rare crooked smile. "Don't get used to it." I mumble before popping a small kiss on her cheek. "Food's on the table, and pull your hair up." My mom's beautiful, tall with coco brown skin, chocolate eyes that pull at the end, and short dark brown hair. Her skin is smooth, and her smile warm like her heart, but she's not afraid to tear anyone apart. We only have each other. She tells me not to trust a soul. To keep an eye behind my back and a gun in my coat. Although I prefer a dagger.
"What do we have here?" I ask.
Taking a seat I begin to eat only to get slapped on my hand. I know she hates when I eat without saying grace. "You know how I feel about that Errana." I hate when she scolds me. I slowly push her hand to the side and smile. "I know." She scolds me and takes her seat. "Thank you for another day, hour, second, and breath. The sun and water, food and shelters..." I open my eyes as she goes on. A familiar melancholy feeling begins to consume me as I look at what I have left. I don't want to lose her. I doubt I can even live on my own. I'm only seventeen: not legal. And I'd die before I go to the Orphan house. I look at my mother as her eyes meet mine.
"Amen."
"Amen."
YOU ARE READING
THE KEY (book one)
Action"Step back and look at the bigger picture" What happens when the fate of the country depends on Keys? Keys that were stolen. What happens when that fate is placed in the palm of your hands? The Keys: Stolen and sold for money by Main City's most no...
