Howdy howdy
How are you?

So if you know me, author wise, you know all my other series are on pause while I write for NaNoWriMo. But in the middle of writing, I decided that I would post what I'm writing.

I personally think this is on of my best series I will ever for write for FFnet. With that said, if you think something isn't right (for the time period), please let me know. I want this story to be spectacular.

Protocol:
word count: 845

[I don't own any KHR characters]

No betas. Not allowed since it's for a contest.

=Advice/Comments are Loved=

.Captain.

Prologue

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Help us to be mindful of all our blessings, and the needs of those who have less, through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

At the table, in which I am seated, are the presences of ten. Myself included, as well as Mother's unborn child, make eleven and twelve. Hand in hand, with them raised above the bread and wine, we sit at the large table and listen to Mother recite our blessings to the Lord for such a gracious meal. We sit as a reunited family. We sit as a soon splitting family.

Mother finally takes the first bite of the marinated eel, and the rest of us join. The fork in my left-hand raises, the eel slips through my barely open mouth, and my palette erupts to its madness. Pepper, with minute flavorings of balsamic vinegar and garlic among other indecipherable ingredients are making my jaw twinge. This is a good twinge; I smile and graciously inform her of the quality. Mother's ability to prepare food is irrefutable. Such a splendid skill is desirable.

After a modest reply is given in return, my multitude of brothers join in unison to sing of mother's skill. The five boys and men snuff out my only sister's hushed thank you. Father, Nonna, and Nonno all remain quiet. Their attention is evidently on the food. How I wish I could focus so. Such attention is hard for me, especially as I watch my two older brothers, Antonio and Ciro, playfully tease Massimo.

Although Massimo and I are but 10 months apart, my intelligence seems to be most vast. Only a fool would choose a seat between older brothers as diabolical as them. Watching Massimo partake in their scrutiny more only brings forth inaudible chuckles from myself, and audible ones from my youngest brother, to my left, Vito. His large grin and almond-shaped eyes are inescapable.

Then a cough sounds. The bite in my mouth stays in place, whilst my eyes dart to Nonno. His dark, leathery hand is cupped over his mouth, but under the survey of many eyes. Knowing his health is bad, one can't help but wonder how much longer he has. Finishing my bite in silence, I subtly gaze upon a hand gently take his shoulder. The man with a slender face, nicely kept hair donning his widow's peak, and striking green eyes asks if Nonno is okay.

My father, sitting at the head of the table, looks across to Mother while listening for Nonno's response. Only he, Mother, and Nonna can understand the aged completely. His northern accent is very heavy. Antonio can understand a good portion, as well as Oriana. His words, though a mystery to more than half of the room, are ones that are held to the highest esteem. They are nuances of grumbled Greek to my ears—held to the highest esteem.

Silent is the room as Nonno mumbles soft words to my Father, that is, until a fork clangs. Except Nonno's, all eyes dart to Nicodemo. He is the second youngest (for now) and, by far, the clumsiest of us all. He is also the most jovial. As the spitting image of my father apologizes with his bewildered expression, I notice Ciro's utmost desire to smack the boy sitting next to him. Then again, it is hard to not notice Ciro.

Being the only blonde in our generation, Nonna being the blonde in hers, Ciro truly is the epitome of handsome. God has blessed us, giving our family such a handsome and charismatic boy. Though it is unfortunate that Ciro wasn't blessed with intelligence as well. He would be a very fearsome man if bequeathed with this trait too.

Dinner goes back into procession after mother lightly chides Nico to practice mindfulness. She then chides my inability to cease 'cloud drifting.' My face scrunches, and I quickly take another bite. The sautéed tomatoes taste sublime; I let the morsel sit on my palette to fully experience it. My experience is unsettled with Antonio's soft foot tap. My eyebrows furrow, and I am chided once more. A head tilt towards my food to veil my huff. Cretinous brother Antonio—he and Ciro both plot against on a communal standard—no one is safe under his sharp eyes. With a glance towards the jesters, I see that Massimo is just as guilty. Terrible brothers I have been given by the Lord.

"Children, do ready yourselves for your nightly prayers and slumber. Tomorrow is the day our Church will meet its new Pastor."

In unison, we all answer our Father. "Yes, Father."

None would dare give any other answer, since tomorrow is the day he, Ciro, and Antonio all leave for America. Nightly I have prayed for their safety. Nightly, we have all been given reassurances that the tribulations we are facing are only ones of temporary status. Oh, how I keep steadfast my faith and patience on this reassurance. Surely, the Lord will bless me for my patience.