Something smells fishy

Downburst

Damn those cicadas!

I grumbled, burring my face into the pillow.

Every single day, since I moved into this apartment, I had to suffer at the relentless sobs of the cicadas that nestled comfortably in the trees that shaded my window. If you ever heard of crying cicadas, you know they're the alien size of a mosquito. Mine were abnormal even within alien realms. This was no crying, this was shouting at the top of their lungs.

I so don't need this at..., I checked the bed for my phone and looked at the time. Seven a.m. Jesus Christ.

I hugged my pillow at the memory of yesterday's almost date. Sparks, the size of Fourth of July fireworks, were frying in the air.

'Jesus,' I yelp, as my laptop, set on the stool beside my bed, rang at the top of its decibels.

The stars weren't looking kindly on me today. Apparently everything had grown a pair of newborn-lungs.

I hastily pulled it onto my legs. It was mom calling on skype. I quickly ran a hand through my hair, trying to make myself look presentable, a lousy attempt.

'Hey, mom!' I muttered into the speaker.

'Hello sweetheart! What time is it over there? Did I wake you up?'

'No mom, you haven't. I had been up for some time already. It's like seven a.m.' I smiled into the camera.

'Seven a.m. and you're up? Is something wrong? Do you have any problems because you know you can come back any-'

'Muuum!

'Any time honey,' she continued.

'Muuum!'

' Your father and I--'

'Mum!' I stopped her, 'everything is alright mom. And yes, I know that.'

'It's the cicadas mom, they're putting out a show every damn morning and —'

'No cursing, young lady. God is listening and trust me, you don't want to be the reason his ears fall off, ' she finished  with a lousy impersonation of pastor Jones.

Pastor Jones was a saint, at least that's what my mother insisted on. And he must have been because he looked like he was a hundred years old. Yet he still bounced everywhere like a tennis ball during  Wimbledon. Every Sunday he prepared a sermon, and God have mercy on your soul, if pastor Jones caught you stealing a nap. Obviously, I sinned more than once.

He will not let your foot slip — he who watches over you will not slumber, little Amy    Taylor; so don't let God see you disrespecting him in his own house!

I crushed the laughter that built up in my chest and coughed out a complacent  ' yes, mother!'.

'Ok, baby tell me how are you doing over there? Do you really not want to come home? Do they treat you right?'

'Mom, stop acting like I'm a child, everything is peachy. Nothing changed since we last talked and that is', I check the time again, 'fifty two hours, twenty minutes and—', I wait for it 'thirty seconds ago!'

'Alright sweetie, we're just worried about you! Me and dad want you to know that it is perfectly alright to come home whenever you want to.'

Her baby blue eyes melted into a motherly smile, you know, one those that made you feel safe.

'How is Miyu? Have you two been on any adventures lately?' she asked.

'Oh shoot, Miyu! '

I had forgotten about her.