“Ug I hate the rain.” I put a hand up above my head in an attempt to block the steady drizzle. I take my other hand and put it in the pocket of my yellow coat. My tiny hand finds what I was looking for; my rock. To be frank, I don’t know why I have this thing, I have always had it, and I always keep it on me. This rock isn't shaped like anything special, not my favorite color, nor does it symbolize anything. As far as I am aware it is just a rock I found and said, “Cool, I’ll keep it.”
I am Maple Eleanor Rouge, the seventeen year old that is currently running away from the rain with loose golden pigtails bouncing, and a rock in her hand. In short, I don’t give two fucks about anything. It is not like there is anyone in the village that I want to impress.
Everyday is the same for me; get up, roam around the village, then come back home and sit for the rest of the day. I would even go as far to say nothing ever happens to me, but I am the main character so, that’s a lie.
My mother works hard all day at a medical tent south of the village. My Father is also quite busy, working at a guard post about a mile away. My parents leave at the same time every morning and come back with an hour difference. Twelve hour shifts must be ruff, but I wouldn’t know. Father barks at me all the time about how I need to get a job, but I don’t think he realizes how busy I am.
I finally reach my tiny home just before the storm came rolling in. Our house was pretty secluded compared to the others in the village. That is mostly because we owned a pig. The head townie hates pigs so we had to move, or kill the pig. Velvet has been our family mascot for a year now.
I knocked on the open window's little door and hollered in. "Hey ho! Anyone home?"
I knew the answer and the silence confirmed it. I jumped up on our one concrete step and flung open the aluminum screen door. I pulled a little too hard and I could have sworn the rusty thing was going to fall off.
I entered and looked directly to the left to the kitchen. I jumped at the sight of my Father.
"Dude, what the heck? Why are you home, it isn't even lunch yet!" My heart is still thumping as I just look at him waiting for an answer.
He drops a few utensils in the sink and mumbles something as he does it. He has been acting robotic these days, still not sure what he is doing. It always looks like he is lost.
"The bigger question seems to be, why are the dishes not done yet?" He puts a hand on the counter to lean on and give me the most sassy look I've ever seen a grown man do.
"Hey man, I am a very busy person. Plus I thought I had all day to do them." I sass back because how dare he sass me first.
"Well, you don't, so, get on them." He picks up his hand and walks past me into our hallway.
I did a huff and began taking off my coat. "You still didn't answer me." I shout as I roll up my sleeves and get to work on the dishes.
"I'll answer you when you get a hard working job." He raised his monotone voice just enough for me to get the full effect of his word poison.
"I have a hard job! You don’t get how hard it is to lap the village and refrain from eating." Continuing this fight is useless, but I can still have fun with it. "I have to pick up the food and not eat it. Do you know how much work that takes?”
I hear nothing in response, and that just dampers my mood for the rest of the day. I mutter to myself as I do the dishes about how Fathers are just fucks in general.
I should make a club. I pick up a bent, beat up spoon and start scrubbing vigorously. Yeah, the Fuck Fathers Club. I grin at my awesome idea, but then the smile quickly runs away as I realize that some people can take it differently. Father-hating Alliance? Dads Don't Deserve Love?
My anger fuels my energy and I surprisingly get the dishes done faster than normal. I take a step back and put fists on my hips. I admire the work I have done, because this never happens.
For a family of three, (well, four including my rock) we stack up the dishes pretty high. Sadly, the dishes was not the only job I had. My jobs are to clean the shack of a home we have, and cook. I am the stereotypical housewife, yet expected to work on top of that.
What do I want for dinner? I dig around in our little ice box to look for something that wasn't freezer burnt. I dig past some green beans, and a lot of seasonings, but nothing else. Great. I stand myself up straight and close the lid. So, I guess I need a few things from the market. I walk over to my coat that I had lazily thrown on our couch. The couch colors matched my mustard coat quite well, actually.
As I forcefully shove my hands through my sleeves as I noticed our kitchen light bulb was flickering. Dang it. Not another one.
I grab our jar full of nickels and pennies that lay at rest on the side table. It is the family funds that we added to when we have spare change. I leave my Father in the house without telling him a word. That was not my job.
It was not until I busted open the door did I remember that I didn't get things from the village because it was raining. So when I stepped outside I was almost too dumbfounded by the literal shit-storm to do anything but to gawk at the flying leaves around me.
So maybe that is why dad is home. I shrug, grab my rock, put my forearm on my head and run off back to the village.