Winona

00

IT ISN'T supposed to be everyday in which Finn wakes up to the smell of burning sausages with the sound of expletives being yelled into the air. Unfortunately in the Carter household, morning situations like this are typically normal and if they did not occur almost everday, then something was askew.

Rubbing his bleary eyes, Finn throws the blankets clinging to his body off to the side where it lands on the floor with an unceremonious thump. He stretches and lets out a moan fit for a porn star and scratches the hem of his boxers where a sudden morning itch has arisen. He tries not to picture the other morning surprise courtesy of the frigid autumn weather, and a perk of being a teenage boy.

Down below in the kitchen area, he hears his father mulling about and the sounds of pans being dropped - along with a thud. Finn envisions his father hitting his head on top of the cabinets. His lanky 6'3 frame constantly creates problems in their all-too tiny, one-story home.

"Shit!" Michael Carter exclaims. His curse is instantaneously followed by the beeping of the fire alarm. It rings loudly from down the hall, infiltrating Finn's sleep-sensitive ears.

Finn lets out a sigh and bends down to retrieve an old shirt from the floor. He picks up two - a collared white shirt with a grease stain and an embarrassing digimon tee from his younger years - and gives both a hesitant sniff. Sighing again, he reluctantly chooses the twelve-year old memorabilia and discards the other option, where it falls back to the ground along with its other clothing compadres.

He makes sure to grab his glasses off the night stand before throwing open his closet and digging out the fire extinguisher kept there for emergency reasons.

(As in his father attempting to cook breakfast.)

(And occassionally lunch.)

(Always ready at hand for dinner.)

With another exasperated sigh (Finn had a bad habit of constantly sighing, along with ruffling his already messy hair), he opens his bedroom door to the smell of burning sausages and the sound of expletives being shouted into the air, and prepares himself for another mundane day.

Upon entering the kitchen, Finn realizes all too quickly that it is as much of a chaotic mess as he had imagined.

Scattered on the tiles below are hoards of pancakes - some burned, some still frothing in batter. A sunny side up egg is plastered against the cabinets, and on the stove is a pot with an unassuming appetizer, boiling and gurgling like a zombie risen from the dead. Beside it in a small pan are three sausages burnt to a crisp.

And awfully on fire.

Then there is the mess that is Michael Carter. Finn's father stands in front of the pan with a disapproving yet frightened expression. The man is wearing his wife's old 'kiss the cook' apron, and the pink seems to clash with his Dodgers tank and holy boxers. He prods the fire with his spatula, only to be met with the sausages exploding into a bigger flame.

Finn takes his regular spot beside his father, hoisting up the fire extinguisher with a grunt and hosing down the flames until they dwindled to ash. The pair stand side by side and watch the scene in front of them, listening to the fire alarm sounding around the kitchen.

"Thanks, son."

"Anytime, Dad."

---

Because of the odor now emanating through the Carter residence, Finn takes it upon himself to rummage through various drawers until he finds exactly what he's looking for. He has a triumphant grin as he holds up a small jar labeled 'autumn leaves' and snatches a lighter from the counter.