Blame it on our Fates

t h i r t y f o u r

Song of the Day: Chasing Pavements by Adele.

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T h i r t y f o u r

"Is-is this really my house?" My father questioned to himself, disbelief clear in his voice as well as exasperation. And no, not in the good kind of way but rather 'what went through the beaded head of yours to destroy my house?' kind of way.

I looked at Nolan, the sheepish, nervous expressions similar on our faces. After our sheepish eyes met fathers', we looked away and at the mess we made of the living room. The curried Scalloped Potatoes were now a mush on the floor, dirtying my mother's favourite maroon carpeted floor. The pots of Scalloped Potatoes that rested in my hand fell to the floor with a thud, dropping the curry even more.

"Yes, I think it is," Nolan muttered. My father's expression changed from curious to furious in seconds. Whoopie, that even rhymed!

Good thing everyone was still in the dining room, having food fight or else father would have exploded.

Just then Harriet came sprinting into the living room where Nolan and I were standing sheepishly as she started ducking, Mark hot on her tail. My eyes widened when I saw another pot in his grasp. I tried to reach out his eyes, trying to warn him that father was in the same room as us but to no avail. His eyes were glued to Harriet's back, a weird of determination set in his brown eyes. He raised the pot up and hurled it towards Harriet, who somehow knew he had hurled it over to her and she ducked. And just like that it landed on someone else, someone who wasn't Harriet, and someone who wasn't Nolan, too and surprisingly, someone who wasn't my father too. No it was someone new, not someone I knew.

Damn, even that rhymed! I really thing I should try my luck at poetry, might work just fine for me, I thought to myself.

A slightly petite, almost my heighted Asian lady, who was standing behind my father before and now, had decided to step into the battlefield was hurled the pot at. Her beautiful white coloured dress, that screamed Prada, by the way, was smudged with a creamy, cream that trickled down and down unto her shaped and shaved legs. Wearing similar mortified expressions, my father and that lady exchanged a glance their expression said how much off guard they had been caught. They stared for a moment and two turned to five and then ten. No one uttered a single word, even the crickets seemed to have muted their chirping and cricketing sounds.

I could see her. She was beautiful, definitely beautiful. Her hooded dark brown eyes were complimenting her dark brown mane and her face was perfectly heart-shaped. Her skin seemed clean and flawless and there were no seeming, visible spots on them. She might be a middle aged lady but she sure didn't look like one. And her dressing sense gave off a feeling that could be slightly unpleasant to have her around. She looked like a rich brat, Asian one at that.

I first turned to Mark and saw his horrified expression that I was sure of I was wearing too and then at Harriet. She just looked confused as she stood up from her ducking position. Nolan caught my eye and mouthed, 'So dead.' I nodded, apprehensively.

I closed my eyes as I waited, waited for the woman to start shouting and screaming profanities at us, kids.

But then she did something even shocking. She started laughing as if we hadn't destroyed her beautiful Prada dress at all. And nothing about that laughter sounded sinister or cruel, like I had imagined her to be. In fact it was rather warming, her laughter. Her eyes were twinkling with mirth, something I didn't expect to be twinkling in the eyes of a middle aged beautiful, rich woman whose expensive dress had just been marred.

"How fun do you seem to be having?!" She exclaimed, her laughter replaced by a kind looking, warm smile. Her smile and statement was directed to all four of us, standing in front of her, clothes ruined. Her chilled question made all of us crack a smile replacing our guilty looks.