Midnights Become My Afternoons
I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser, Midnights become my afternoons. I haven't been sleeping. My medication the doctor perscribed me hasn't been working well. I sometimes wonder if I'm on my own. Just me and sweet nothingness. My parents died when I was young in The Great War. I don't exactly know what that means, but I'm assuming it was World War 1 or 2. I live with my adopted parents, Mr. and Mrs. Del Rey. They aren't very kind, they make me feel like I'm the moster on the hill. I want a change in life. All my happy moments are spent at midnight, where I stay up and comfort myself.
I'm laying down in my "bed" currently, not really a bed, but more so of a very small couch. By the way, I'm Midnights. I think it's a strange name to have compared to other regular names, but I like it. I think it represents me.
"Time to get up!" Mrs. Del Rey shouts at me from outside of my tiny room.
I slowly get up. She's probably going to ask me to make eggs again. I'm not very good at it, for some reason purple glitter comes out of the yoke. Mrs. Del Rey punishes me whenever it happens, and she gets really scared when it does.
"Coming, Mrs. Del Rey," I say back.
"Don't speak like that," she sneers at me.
I've been living with Mr. and Mrs. Del Rey for eleven years. I still refuse sometimes to follow their rules. Mr. Del Rey is sitting at the table, with his usual look of anger on his face.
"Make eggs," Mr. Del Rey says. "And try not to make glitter come from them,"
I don't speak, and start making eggs. I do everything the recipe says. When I'm done, I present the eggs to Mr. and Mrs. Del Rey, in which they proceed to cut them. Instead of yolk coming out, purple glittery liquid comes flowing out.
All Mr. and Mrs. Del Rey do is scowl at me. Hard.