tongue of the serpent ➵ a.b.

Chapter 43: From My Rotting Body

Waking up, I smell home in my nostrils. The familiar smells of a good, home-cooked breakfast.

I sit up, opening my eyes to the demon-ruled world. The smells were wafting from small, styrofoam containers. Bacon, pancakes, hashbrowns, sausage, and all those amazing, delectable breakfast foods could easily be in those!

I decide to investigate, stalking my way out the bed. "Andy?" I call out, peering into the bathroom. "Andy? You there?"

The bathroom was submerged in darkness and silence. No Andy.

"Hmm," I mumble, thinking out loud. "Where could he be?"

I pick up one of the containers, leaning in for a small whiff. Judging by the smell, I'd say there was a heaping pile of hashbrowns in there. It makes me mouth water in anticipation.

"Knock, knock!" a voice sounds. "Hey, get out of those hashbrowns! They're not just for you, princess."

I put down the plate, turning towards the door to see my delight. "Daddy!" I shout, leaping in joy. I jog to him, letting his arms wrap me in a bonfire of heat for a minuscule second.

Andy moves the bags he is carrying out the way for the small hug. "BabyGirl, how long have you been up?" His lips hit the top of my head.

"Not long," I calmly whisper in his chest. I let go of him and push back, getting interested in other matters. Pointing to the bags in his hand, I ask, "What you got there?"

"No, no," Andy says, teasing me. "It's just some more food." He sets down the plastic bags on the table with the food. "First, we have to eat all the food Daddy got from Denny's. And you have to be a good little girl."

I eye Andy with a half-mean, sarcastic look on my face. "Fine."

We pile high for our breakfast. All the delights Andy got for us needs to be eaten, or so he says.

Eventually, Andy and I sit down on the bed with our plates full of yummy edibles. The TV flicks on and we flip through the basic cable channels. When we land on channel three, we get connected to an early morning show called The View. It's crap, if you ask me.

Andy threw the remote on the bed, satisfied with his channel surfing abilities. He takes a bite of his buttermilk biscuit, looking cute in the process.

I look at him, curving my eyebrows in a confused manner. "Uh, Andy, do you really want to watch gossiping women for a whole hour?"

"There's nothing else on TV!" he shouts, throwing his hands in the air like he was caught doing drugs. "I swear by it!"

"Ugh," I moan, having the same reaction to it. "Daytime television."

"All the soap operas you could ever dream for."

Our teasing fight was cut short by four women on the TV.

"There's actually a lot of debate on who's going to win Battle of the Acts," a woman I know as Whoopi Goldberg claims.

"Hey, Andy, turn it up."

The TV gets louder with the flick of his fingers.

A black women steps forward, voicing her opinion. "See, I don't even watch that show! What's the big deal about it?" The subtitles suggest her name is Sherri.

A blond woman, seeming to be younger than all the rest, states, "Well, people say that it's like, the next American Idol or something. The whole point of it was to unite all the diversity of music into one building." She flashes a cute smile.

"All I know is that there is drama, drama, drama between the acts. It's like a melting pot, but instead of mixing together, the acts split like water and oil." Sherri had a ginormous point.