Aera-Kerr: Prelude of Fate (Act 1 - free sample)

Chapter 3: Omen of the Dark Lord

It was not until after sunset when Tyrell's parents returned to the apartment. Both were carrying large grocery bags in their arms.

"Where've you been?" Tyrell asked his parents.

"We had a few errands to run," his father said. "We would've let you come with us, but you were gone when we left."

"You could've called me if you wanted," Tyrell said.

His mother set some bags on the kitchen counter. "Would you mind helping us unload the rest of the groceries from the car? There shouldn't be much left."

"Sure," Tyrell answered.

He went down on the elevator and out to their car to collect the remaining groceries. Barely able to hold them all, Tyrell was forced to walk slow to prevent them from falling out of his arms. The jolt from the elevator starting its ascent made three of the bags fall, which he struggled to pick up, all the while holding the rest with one arm. After making it back up their floor, he struggled to scan his finger on the biometric reader and open the door. He set everything down on the kitchen counter.

After putting all the food into the pantry, refrigerator, and icebox, Tyrell's mother prepared dinner for the three of them; a pot roast, that had been stewing throughout the day, with boiled potatoes and steamed broccoli.

Tyrell had to give his mother credit for her cooking skills. She experimented quite a lot and made her own new recipes, which many residents of the apartment would request from her. Tyrell admitted her stir-fries, soups, salads, and pies were all exquisite.

Tyrell's father broke the silence when everyone was eating: "Did anything interesting happen while we were gone?"

Tyrell thought for a moment, but would not exactly consider his routine whip practice to be anything worth mentioning. His parents knew about it for a long time.

"No, not really," he replied, before remembering what he needed to tell them. "Although . . . I did get an email inviting me to a birthday party."

"Oh, really? Who's it from?" His mother asked.

"It's from a girl who went to my school, Kira Birkin," Tyrell said.

His father's eyes widened, "Oh, well that's excellent, son! You think she's cute . . . ?"

Tyrell felt the blood drain from his face as his arms went rigid.

"Well . . . kinda?" He responded.

"You know, Tyrell, if you like her, all you have to do is be nice to her, and especially, be yourself," his mother said.

Tyrell agreed. The problem was how his adrenaline went on overdrive whenever Kira was in his presence.

"Yeah, don't stress. Act normal around her, and you'll be good," his father said.

Tyrell nodded. "Yeah, you're right. I'll do it."

"Good," his mother remarked.

"Alright, well, good luck at the party!" His father said. "Speaking of which, when is it?"

"This Tuesday," Tyrell replied.

"Alright, I think I will be able to take you that day," his mother said.

"Okay," Tyrell responded, picking up his plate and cutlery. "Anyway, thanks for the roast, mom."

"Um, before you go," his father interjected, "could you please clean up the kitchen?"

Tyrell put his plate and silverware into the dishwasher along with the other dishes, and washed the remaining tableware and cooking pans by hand. After he finished, he went to his bedroom, where he laid on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he became lost in thought once again. There was something about Kira's upcoming birthday party that made him eager, yet hesitant.