I have to thank you guys. My friends, those who write stories I follow, people who have, without knowing it, made my life marginally better ever so slowly. I have to thank various bands for giving myself something other than personal issues to focus on. I have to thank my choral instructors, for working me so hard, so that way I had more to think about.

That makes no sense whatsoever if you don't know what went on. Which most of you, except for the lucky few who know me personally, do not.

Here's what little of an explanation I can force out of me.

It's short, it's crappy, but it's all you're getting for a while. Please don't demand updates from me right now. I know I have a bunch of stories sitting around. I promise, I'll update when I actually have ideas.

I'm thinking... Electra's P.O.V.

My family was screwed up - dysfunctional. I knew that already. I knew there was a reason my dad didn't come home from work until the little one had gone to sleep. I knew there was a reason my mom was so down all the time. I think, somewhere deep down, I knew all she had been doing was putting on a brave face for us - the three of us who were at home, and the two who never were.

Which is why, standing here, looking at the fresh mound of dirt and a newly cut piece of gray rock, it doesn't make sense that I don't understand it.

My sister, a steady presence, usually a steady good mood, has her arm around my shoulders, trying to be the responsible one for once, and she's blinking back tears. I feel her arm there, but it's as if suddenly she's made of air, nothing more.

She understands, at least, what went on. She accepted the knowledge, I refused it. They had asked if I wanted to know the details, and I just shook my head at them, from my place in my room, the usual perch of the plush Pikachu chair, trying for some sense of familiarity.

I don't notice when it begins to rain. I was just standing there with my sister, staring at one gray rock amid what was probably hundreds more of them.

She hadn't been much of a mom. But, she still had been something.

Now she was nothing. Just a body. A body in a box, with a stone to mark which body was there. She wouldn't watch my sister, my brother (who had locked himself away as best as an eight year old was capable), or me grow up. Wouldn't be there to help my brother with his math homework. Wouldn't help any of us eventually move out. She'd be forever in our memories as some-what of a liability, once we were older.

I didn't want to think of her that way. I'm honest, I don't want to. But the years of me being ten and her looking over my Language Arts homework are gone. There isn't anything pleasant or positive I can think of relating to her anymore.

My sister has more to thank my mom for, I guess. My mom's the one who decided we'd take her in in the first place. So maybe that's why the sadness hit my sister harder than it hit me, even if my sister's technically not related to any of us. Dysfunctional family, dysfunctional existence.

We walk home together, after I notice the rain splashing against the stone.

My mother's tombstone.

She's gone, like a few before her in my life. Honestly, I shouldn't get attached to people. They're all going to die. Some before expected, but still. Gone.

We reach our house. Neither of us bother to try and dry our coats. My sister curls up on a pillow and stares at a wall. My little brother is no where to be seen. I walk up the steps and knock on his door. I hear a small, "Go away," in response.

I roll my eyes and open the door.

His eyes, glittering with tears, turn to me, and I'm sure he meant to be menacing. But it doesn't really work that way when you're a little kit.

I make my way over to his bed, amongst these little action figures that he's infatuated with.

He looks up at me, eyes practically brimming with tears, and asks quietly, "What are we going to do?"

I look at him. The one who's always trying to put on a brave face. Always trying to protect us girls when big brother isn't around, even though he's only eight.

I wish I could have given him an honest answer. I really do. But I had to lie. For his sake, if anything.

I wrapped my arms around him. "We're going to be okay." And he burries his head into my shoulder. I feel tears join the wet that's already there.

I wish I knew we would be okay. I do. But I doubt it.