Wondered

Nightingale

    "Genesis! Genesis come on! Wake up! Mom has breakfast ready!" I opened my eyes to see my little sister Brooke on top of me. Her knees digging into my stomach, and her hands grabbing my wrists.
   

"I'm up! I'm up! OW! What was that for?!? GET OFF BROOKE!" I yell, pushing her off me. She laughs. She's not intimidated by me, despite how much older I am.

    She runs down the old wooden staircase to the kitchen, where my mom is cooking. I sit up, in my old cloth shirt, and pull on a filthy pair of trousers I haven't washed in three months. I trudge down the stairs and plop down at the table.  My mom has a big plate of eggs, and sausage, and another weird brown thing that kind of looks like someone popped a squat over my plate.

   "Mom, what in the bloody hell is that?" I say, pointing at the so-called "food." She glares at me. My mother isn't very intimidating. She's a shorter five-foot woman with long brown hair and a dress that looks like it went through the war.

   "It's called a pancake. Eat." She says, with this fire in her eyes. I don't hesitate to pick up my fork and shove it into my mouth. It's sort of hard, but tastes fine just the same. I've finished it and my eggs before my mom tells me my chores for the day.

 "You and Brooke need to go to the square and get a turkey for dinner. I'm almost out of bread and cream. And you need to go and bathe. You're filthy." She says prodding and poking at my shirt. I try to get her away, but she's a mom on a mission. I just have to endure the prodding.

   I don't even bother putting on my boots. It's warm outside, and they have a huge hole in the sole. I get Brooke and we walk out of the house. The cobblestones of the street are hot against my feet, but I don't really mind. I reach the marketplace when a hoard of guards run past.

   "Genesis, what's happening?" Brooke says. I don't know what to tell her, no idea at all. I think its probably a fight between the town drunk and whichever poor civilian he's picked on this time.

   It must be that. It has to be that. Nothing has come upon Nightingale since, my father. It's a drunk. It has to be the drunk!

   I hear screams from far off up the road, in the square. It's not a drunk. There isn't this much commotion with a drunk. I start to run toward it, and I hear Brooke keeping on my tail. I reach the crowd, and I can't see where the commotion is. I don't know what to do, but I know I have to protect Brooke. I put my hand on her shoulder, and pull her closer to me. 

   The crowd goes silent, the calm right before the storm. Something is about to happen, and it will be something life-changing. I pull Brooke in front of me and turn her around. I kneeled down to talk to her. 

"Brooke, listen to me. Please. Go through the crowd and get back home. Get mom, and pack a sack full of as much food as you can. Then run for the gates. You need to get out." She just looks at me and nods. "Hey. I need you and mom to get out. I'll find you, I promise." I tell her. She threw her arms around me, and dug her head into my shoulder. I felt the warm drops of her tears hit my shirt shoulder. 

"Genesis?"

 "Yeah?"

"Survive. Please."

"I will," I say.

I release Brooke, kiss her on the forehead, and watch her run toward the house.

I watch as she gets lifted off the ground and carried over the crowd.

"BROOKE!" I scream. 

 "Genesis, we meet at last."