Prelude

There was that time in the wake of my five years in which I had received my first piece of homework. It was that kind of assignment. You know. The introduction. Name, age, who you are and whence you came from. Etcetera etcetera. It's been so overdone I'm surprised people even introduce themselves anymore. Well I for one am glad to know people out there still retain their mannerisms.

Now, this isn't a time to say 'Ack, dude, I've heard enough homework rants to fill up a few lifetimes so shut your cake hole.' This is a time where a genuinely curious you, raises a delicate eyebrow and asks 'Oh you poor thing. Did you have trouble with it?' No, not at all! It was a breeze of fresh air. You don't even have to be a prodigy child to complete this simple task. Nothing to it!

…Okay, you caught me. I did have one slight pet peeve about it as a whole.

There they were flashing at me in big bold letters. Dad. Mom. Sibling(s). Pet(s). With sharpied lines running straight next to each category. Let me now note that le teacher had admitted to cramming it in last minute, so what can I say at this point besides—

That this is a complete and utter mockery.

I mean, think about it. Just for a moment. There could have been one vague, but precise section consisting all of the above instead of hastily chopped liver parts practically screaming for you to finish the square that the teacher woefully neglected and mark a check in all the applying boxes. Are you kidding me? Who does that? Who? In all things good and true, I felt like this was an application for dummies instead of a friendly getting-to-know-you sheet of paper. Look Miss, I liked you since you were young, pretty and nice but the step by step process was not necessary. We're all big kids now. Just plain 'Family' would have sufficed.

It was almost as if she had expected every student in her class to have a complete family. News flash! Not everyone has a pet. I sure didn't, but I would've liked one. Like a cute little puppy of sorts. Heck, even a goldfish would do. I'd have dubbed him Sir Edgar the Valiant! A namesake of the noble and courageous protagonist of the good book, the Holy Knight!

Ahem. Aside from fish of knightly culture, there was also the possibility of being an only child to consider. Not that I was, of course. I am the proud older brother of a younger sister, Ada. Beautiful girl with a heart of gold. She was my light back in those old dreary days and still is. I couldn't have asked for more, for she was like the mother I never had.

So I probably should have written down her name at that time. Or maybe I could've left it blank or even scribbled in an 'I don't have a mom' in that snarky and immature but five year old naivety and await the droopy sympathized face of my teacher as she'd collect the papers.

What I eventually done in the end was unforgivable. I don't even know why I speak of this now. I have to admit it's not a topic full of sunshine and daisies. Maybe I just need to let it all out. Now was not the time however.

For it is my own existence of which causes my dear sister grief. It is me who had robbed her of house and home. Of the potential parental figure that only she could have had, but had been snatched from her cruelly by a monster of infinite green.

All the blame is on me, as we, the Vessalius siblings were forsaken by our father and thrown into a fruity jail cell of youth called Latowidge Juvenile Care Center.

And when I say fruity, I meant of the citrus kind.