Deadly Secrets

1. The Meeting (rewritten)

     An early morning breeze filtered through my hair, pushing my bangs into my good eye from where they hung loose from my ponytail. A huff made its way up from my chest as I jerked my head back, shaking the hair from my face. I gave the sandbag a final series of blows, finishing it off with a hard kick, sending it swinging backwards into the trunk of the tree it hung from. As I grabbed the bag, holding it in place to stop its swinging, the distant sounds of the chaos that was my family reached my ears. It was times like these that I had to admit my coworkers were right about one thing: we Americans do have a tendency to get loud. From where I stood, at least two hundred feet away from the large house, I could pick out the various voices of my states arguing over what to make for breakfast.

A shout that rose above the others in an attempt to quell the madness told me that it was time to go back inside. I glanced over at the golden rays that had finally risen above the treeline, spilling the bright light of morning into the rest of the sky, bringing with it the beginnings of baby blue. I hadn't realized time had passed so quickly. With a small smile and a shake of my head, I started off for the back door.

The late June air brought the scents of flowers from the woods and my front garden to my nose as I walked. I took a deep breath, savoring the fresh smells and holding on to the sense of calm they brought with them. Weathered wood met my bare feet like an old friend, creaking only slightly under my weight as I climbed up to the wrap-around porch of my home. The states had started up their argument again, now with more voices thrown into the mix. I could clearly hear their words now, the shouts for waffles or eggs slowly losing to the demands for biscuits and gravy. We had eaten biscuits and gravy every day this week, and it was Thursday already, there was no way I was going to allow the streak to continue. As I stepped up to the door on the back corner of my house, I could hear one voice trying to be heard above the cacophony of noise, the very same voice whose shout I had heard by the punching bag.

I shook my head, putting on a stern face as I opened the screen door and reached for the inner doorknob. Immediately as I opened the door, the full force of my children's arguing was unleashed from the confines of the kitchen, spilling out to assault my ears and the ears of any creature unlucky enough to be near the door. The distant scrambling of little legs told me that the barrage of noise had sent the rabbits that lived under our porch running for the hills. Propping the doors open with my elbow, I surveyed the room with a raised brow. My states were packed into the large kitchen, most surrounding the kitchen island or lining the counters, with those who weren't directly involved in the chaos peeking in through the doorways to the hallway, pantry and dining room. Most of the southern states and some of the midwest were loudly advocating for biscuits and gravy around the kitchen island while everyone else was insisting on just about anything else. They all seemed to preoccupied with their little breakfast battle to notice me standing in the doorway, though they might just not be able to see me with the only other adult in the house standing right in front of me. His back was to the door as he tried to control the chaos in front of him, gesturing wildly with his hands as he shouted at everyone to be quiet and not talk at the same time.

I let out another sigh as I tried to keep the scents of the flowers in mind. In one swift motion I brought my thumb and forefinger to my mouth and produced a shrieking whistle that tore through the entropy that had conquered my kitchen. They all knew I was there now, a few states let out shouts of surprise before falling silent. The man in front of me nearly jumped out of his skin before he whirled around to face me, his eyes wide with shock at my sudden appearance. I forced down a giggle but lost the battle with the smirk that spread across my face.

"Ya'know, you could give a guy a little warning," My brother grumbled gruffly, his southern drawl stretching out his vowels in a way that was almost musical.