Denouement | Mailboy oneshot - second place

oneshot

Skye Hunter

Coffee is lavish on a bare Sunday morning, with peace and quiet to accompany it, along with a phone in hand which served a purpose at this point in time - Facebook that is. The sun shines bright at 7.a.m with a soft bite of cold which can barely be felt due to the thick robe wrapped around myself. No cars whiz by, no unwanted and irritating noises echo from surrounding neighbors; all is good in the 'hood of Silvercrest.

I enjoy early mornings for one sole reason: the tranquil silence. Everyone is still sleeping, there are no unwanted distractions, I have some alone time, I don't have to worry about Jules (or Zoey, considering some of the predicaments she manages to get herself into) and mainly because I actually am able to hear my self think. Some people find over-thinking to be troublesome, but I find it purely relaxing.

However, I do enjoy sleep too, and therefore I believe it is a rarity that I actually come out of my safe haven to embrace the beauty of the morning.

I take a sip of coffee. It is strong - I would drop dead from exhaustion if it weren't - with no sugar. I relish in the familiar bitterness that I have long since become accustomed to.

Something catches my eye on the screen of my phone. It is a picture of Nico, that asshat, with an arm wrapped around whom could only be know as Beth.

Nico and Beth.

What a little prick, leaving to England without a single goodbye to Zoey, all because he decided to give Beth another chance. Zoey woke up one morning to so little as a note. She was heartbroken. She cried for days and I tried my best to support her but he had done it. Screwed it all up. My heart had been shattering into tiny pieces just watching my sister have her heart torn apart. If that idiot ever decided to show his face, I would knock it straight of. He'd also find that he would have an inability to reproduce. Or just frick-frack in general.

One of these days I'm going to move to London and marry one of those guys with the hot British accent. Hopefully they'll be as hot as their accent too, and rich. Then again, he's just got to be a great guy, contrary to the sorts like Nico Forrest the Mega Douche who just so happens to have a to-die-for accent. But he's too much of a dick to spare any thought in my mind, besides that of planning numerous ways to murder him before he gets anywhere near Zoey.

I scroll past that photo, hoping to ignore the memory of my sister's tear stained face and puffy red eyes that have been shattered, along with her heart. Ever since, she's lost her humour and incredibly bad comebacks. I never really appreciated how much her good vibes affected our family.

I sigh. So much for having a peaceful morning where nothing bad was supposed to happen, right? Relaxation my ass.

I drain the last of my coffee and head back inside. The neighbourhood would soon awaken and ruin my peacefulness. So instead I decide to cook breakfast.

Basically my cooking skills are limited to ham and cheese omelettes (not the fancy kind mind you), toast, pancakes and reheating leftovers so I decide that pancakes would be the most appropriate for a Sunday breakfast.

I pour one glob of batter into the only pan we have that is suitable for pancake-making and soon it spreads to encompass the whole pan. Just as I was about to try my luck at flipping the pancake, a five year old body comes barrelling into the room and wraps their little arms around my legs. Having been startled from this, I jump thus causing the cooking pancake to fly from its pan and splatter on the floor.

"Shi-golly, Jules! Don't scare me like that! If you frighten me too much we won't have any breakfast!" I exclaim, gesturing towards the now inedible pancake that decorates our kitchen floor. Mom stands in the doorway with her arms crossed and a stern look on her face - obviously she had heard my almost-swear-word.