The Orient: Quake

one - The Last Supper

~Unedited~

"If you knew, knew what the bluebirds sang at you, you would never sing along" Fall Out Boy, "Novocaine"

Willow Kimble

After the seventeen and a half years I have been able to eat proper food, my favorite pancakes - my dad's homemade pancakes to be exact - are tasteless. What happened to the fluffy, soft, and delectable pancakes that I have tasted thousands of times before? Even the creamy syrup glazed over the tasty delicacy, with the color of mahogany seeping over the beige dough, didn't bring the same mouth-watering effect that I have come to be addicted to.

Even the sunny-side up eggs didn't brighten my mood. The rays of the sun hanging in the sky didn't warm my cold heart either. The morning tune of the early birds didn't quite reach my ears; yet I yearn to hear their beautiful song. The birds in the area are just simple bluebirds, but their songs sound very solemn. It's as if they know we have to earn our survival via dolorosa; they know we have to take a painful path. In the end, it doesn't matter if my siblings and I survive - our dad will be dead by then anyway.

After millions and millions of years, the Mid-Atlantic Ridge has opened to be a huge crack in the Earth because of the moving of the tectonic plates. Unfortunately, Iceland isn't quite lucky; the country is quite small, and just on the small Northern tip of the ridge. Iceland will be the first to go, death by earthquake. It is said everyone on Earth will die in just three years. I know that scientists from years ago, like Alfred Wegener, who have missed out on one fact - each year, the ridge opens 868.666667 miles more than it did the year before. So in approximately three years, five months, three weeks, one day, six hours, four minutes, and two seconds, the ridge will crack open all the way to the Earth's core, literally ending the world from a massive earthquake.

The Earth will end in a ball of fire.

We acquired this information from the Lemurians, the descendants from the Mu civilization that existed in the Pacific Ocean between the Americas, Eastern Asia, and Australia. The Lemurians have come from a galaxy not too far away, on a planet they have called Lemuria, not quite different from Earth. Their religion, technology, and ways of living are quite different and advanced than ours, so, in which, we are required to learn each, orders of the Lemurians.

This brings up another problem; why my siblings and I have the possibility of surviving, while our father does not. The Lemurians have one rule: teenagers and young adults ages twelve to twenty-one are the only civilians of Earth that will be given a chance to live. That's why my dad has an inevitable death. He's only forty, not too far away from the age group. Most of the parents of the teens my age are forty-five to fifty years of age.

Adulthood is just around the corner for me and my siblings. Well, at least for me and Omid. Holli still has time to be childish. Yet she is still the baby of us three, the news seriously brought her spirits down. She actually use to be the more optimistic one of us, but she's now resorted to barricading herself into her room. She comes out to get food and a drink, but goes back to her room after eating. Omid didn't take it heavily, but I know it's definitely taken an effect on him. His laugh sometimes seems forced.

I know I'm suffering too, but the negative emotions seem to be locked away. The same goes for the positives. It's as if I'm neutral about the situation. Do I not care about my own flesh and blood? No, that's definitely not the case. Maybe I'm in too much shock. Or, I can just be on auto-pilot. It's most likely the latter, but I'm not sure if I'm even....me. I might just be the shell of who I was, a weak and frail skeleton of the former Willow. Maybe, I am now a Weeping Willow. Like the beautiful tree on the hill in our backyard.

The tree, quite majestic, sits upon a bed of grass. The dark oak color accented that of the peppermint-green leaves. The leaves hung from the branches, giving a waterfall look. As soon as I got home from school everyday, I would finish my homework and read under the Weeping Willow. I cannot share the serenity with the Willow anymore, for I can't find my emotions. I can't enjoy reading under the Willow, but I can weep with the Willow. The bark can be someone to hug, while the leaves gently wipe the tears away.

Father had left half an hour ago, after he had made breakfast. Holli usually doesn't eat breakfast, probably because we would ask less questions when we're tired. Omid usually eats a bowl of cereal, and sometimes he wakes up early enough to talk to me. Speaking of which, he'll probably be awake in a few minutes, the clock is about to strike six, the time everyone usually wakes up.

Today is not a normal day. Today is a very bad day.

Perhaps I've been eating sub-consciously, because I felt the food I didn't know I was chewing fall down slowly to my stomach. The pancakes, even with syrup, are still tasteless. Bland. Boring. The only words I think I will ever know, just because I'm not strong.

Suddenly I can feel the grass and spring breeze tickle my ankles, and the scent of wildflowers wafted through my nose. I strained my neck. There, looming above me, was the Weeping Willow my great grandfather planted on this hill just fifty years ago. I wrapped my arms around the tree, or as much as the length of my arms would allow me.

A hand clasped my shoulder, and I was taken into a warm imbrace. I could smell a familiar peppermint scent. My brother wiped my cheek, and which it was then I had realized there was shimmering droplets of water slowly falling down my face; tears.

"Don't worry, I'm here for you fam." Omid smiled, this time genuine. His golden beige skin brightened, as if optimism flowed through his very veins.

Another pair of arms wrapped around my waist, a face finding itself buried in my stomach. Tears wettened my shirt, not only mine, but my little sister's, too.

"I don't want him to die! He can't! I won't allow it!" Holli wailed.

"Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do," I kneeled, staring into her eyes with fierce apricot irises, "This is our Last Supper. Dad is Jesus, and we are his followers; we can try our hardest to appreciate every last second."

With a determined nod, Holli wiped her own tears away and looked up at me with an affectionate face. She stared up at me with her doe-eyes.

I know, that she can go farther than she thinks. Behind a small girl in need of protection is a strong woman, waiting for freedom.
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I know this was published earlier than expected, but I hope you enjoyed reading! Please vote and even comment what you think! I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts!