Hello and Welcome! Here is my story, the prologue. So, this will act like a pilot. Tell me if you like, what you like, what you don't like. Do you want it all in Kyoya's POV or all the characters. Or, am I embarrassing myself? Be brutally honest!
And remember-review :)
-Keira-Hime
When you say something, do you really mean it? Will you mean it tomorrow? Will you mean it if the world ends?
Why does the meaning behind the words change when the circumstance does?
DAY TEN
KYOYA
There are seven hundred square feet for eight people, one fridge and two cabinets of nonperishable crap that would feed two people for two months, that is taking in that the normal middle class human has three meals, two thousand calories a day.
Two beds, one twin, one full. One couch, not pull out, a living chair, and seven hundred square feet of floor. Of course, exclusions for the barricades at the doors, at the windows, any opening, any weak part in the walls.
Seven teenagers, one adult. Personalities of a five year old, a stoic monotony, an overzealous drama queen, an "in-control" trying too hard not to try too hard naivety, a mental breakdown and the shattered mirror image, and of course the desperate transvestite.
And me, trying to make sense of it.
One door , seven windows, furniture pushed against them all. Not enough heavy things, a hutch, a memorial to a mother turned upside down on the door. We'll have to move the twin bed on top of the window, and the couch as well.
That's one bed, one living chair for eight people, seven teenagers, one adult.
Take away one living chair.
Seven hundred square feet for eight people and their alter egos.
One fridge and two cabinets.
Seven teenagers, hardly a club anymore. Pockets full of money, fucking paper, and nothing else to show for themselves.
And outside there is an apocalypse, banging on our doors and screeching in our ears.
I cannot make sense of this.
Thanks for reading~