The Whiney Pervert And Screaming Sister

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I was sitting on the kitchen platform. Watching my mom cook was one of my favorite things to. More like smelling the food she cooked, really!

She was dressed in Indian clothes, she did that when she missed her home. Which means I was in for a treat today. Indian food! Yes!

Indian cuisine was something she mastered. Spicy, hot, flavorful, aromatic, colourful, just how I liked my food. It awakened your tastebuds from an everlasting slumber just like Prince Charming woke up Sleeping Beauty, with a kiss.

The novelty of Indian food. More often than not, it made your nose run and sometimes even made your eyes water. But that never stopped me for savoring the speciality of my mother's home, my home.

She looked so calm and peaceful while she moved her hands to mix the delicious smelling contents of the cooking pot which I couldn't wait to ingest. She looked around for a second, stretching her hand towards one of the boxes that stored the spice she wanted, taking a pinch of it and throwing it in the pot gently. A violent hiss and the unrestrained fragrance of the spice with the other ingredients, my favorite part.

I got off the kitchen counter and walked next to her. I reached for her so I could hug her. She hugged me back and I shut my eyes.

Suddenly, it felt like I was hugging stone, I opened my eyes to find out that my mother had turned into a cold, hard statue. Cracking, in the blink of an eye she crumpled by my feet. Bit by bit.

Just disappeared into nothingness.

My chest was becoming a vacuum, depriving my lungs of every last bit of oxygen. Every ounce of life being sucked out from each fibre of my being. Bit by bit.

I tore my eyes from the ruin by my feet, it seemed as though it was moving? Or reforming?

A slight feeling of home sparked in me. Could it be my mother?

With my luck? No way.

I look up straight into the eyes of the reason for my night terrors.

My father.

I felt like I had cracks on my body and I would fall to the ground just like my mother.

Before anything else happened, I heard a loud bump and my head hit something hard. My eyes shot open and I was struggling for air.

The alcohol made everything feel so real. For a few seconds, I thought I was still in that dreadful moment.

"Are you okay?"

What?

I turned to my left to find a guy driving, his eyes fixed on the road.

Yes! That happened!

"I let you drive my car...." I said to him.

He just looked at me and smiled.

"More like, I drove your car even if you didn't want me too."

"Someone has to die." I said sitting back properly with both my hands behind my head in the passenger seat, the loser seat.

Not that my fabulous car would ever have a loser seat but....in general. Passenger seats are loser seats.

"Not me." He said, his eyes fixed on the fairly bustling road.

"How did you know where I live?" I said sitting back up.

He sighed deeply and looked at me, then back at the road.

"I have a confession....I have been stalking you. I know everything about you. Actually, I fell in love with you the very moment I saw your pretty face. Black hair, sky blue eyes." He looked like a lunatic. He waved one hand around dramatically and handled the steering with another, his words having the same drama. "Your cute nose. Your lips. I just couldn't help myself."  His tone changed from lunatic to psychotic. "But my heart broke into a million pieces when I found out you had a boyfriend!" He screamed. "And then today...I knew you were meeting him, that is why I was there when you needed my help, very conveniently." He paused, very dramatic. "And now I'd like to ask you your hand for marriage."

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