Imagine you live in a mansion. A large mansion, in fact. It's 3 acres.. and..
You know. It'd be better if I...
Yeah.
So there's this girl! She isn't tall, yet she's strong. Muscular, black, and will obviously and willingly clap you, this girl shouldn't be messed with.
Her name's Harriette Apheaea au Prince.
Friends call Her T.
I ain't gotta do shit in this world, Harriette thinks, kicking her feet up in the air. The sunlight shines in her eyes, and she squints.
My Dad, is so goddamn rich, I don't even gotta wipe my ass. In fact, I could just lay here and make a million dollars!
"Harriette! Come eat! T'as l'école!"
Her dad refuses to differ, though.
"I'm coming! Pouvez-vous attendre un peu, mec? Can ya wait a bit, man?"
Author's note: Francis (her dad) prefers that Harriette speak to him in proper French. He does speak Creole, but only when mad.
Harriette hops out of bed, and hunts for her bag. Tossing pillows and stuffed animals everywhere, she spots it; it hangs on the side of the bed.
Gotcha, bitch.
She grabs the bag, and hurried downstairs, zooming into the kitchen.
She pauses momentarily before a portrait of the family, saluting it..
"Morning ma," Harriette says. She then dashes into the kitchen, straight to the coffee machine.
"Morning to you too, Hari," Francis remarks. He sips a cup of coffee, and asks if she saw her sister wake up.
"Fuck if I know," Harriette spits. She pours herself a large amount of coffee into her bright yellow tumbler. "That bitch always be sleepin'. You expect me to know if she's not tired out from doin drugs?"
The tumbler matches with her outfit: a bright yellow sweater, with a blue skirt, and brown leather boots.
Harriette also wears hoop earrings, and the chain her mother gave her, before she left.
"Language. I'm not raising a dog, you know."
You're not raising me at all, Harriette snaps in her head. In reality, she shrugs and mumbles an apology, snatching some rye bread from the toaster.
"You're gonna be late for first period, cherie," Francis notes.
"Girl... it's not even a good class," Harriette reasons. "I'm sure if I'm a few minutes late they ain't gon say 'nun."
"That is true." Francis takes a bite of his piece of bread. "But you do want to keep your straight As, vrai?"
"Fine, I'll go now. Aight?"
"Thank you." Francis has an icy smile as she opens the back door, and walks out of it.
"Don't forget to call me!"
Call one of your whores, stupid motherfucker.
