Oh my god. It's been so long since I've written. I actually don't know how long it's been. Man, I miss writing. And I don't mean writing those horrible science questions my teacher gives me every week, I mean writing Fanfiction.

YES, PEOPLE, I AM BACK.

And I have been reading more romance novels, therefore I have extended my knowledge of words and romance.

So all those fifth-grader-writing-like stories that I used to write are no longer being produced and published. It is now time for my updated romance-writing.

I shall call it JP's Better-Writing-Skills TWO POINT OH.

I have missed your criticism and critique and praise. Most definitely the praise.

So I shall begin a new chapter. You are reading the first chapter. Numero Uno.

I BETTER GET BACK TO WORK. I MISSED ALL YOU PEOPLE WHOM I HAVEN'T HEARD FROM IN QUITE A WHILE! HELLO FELLOW PEEPS!

:)

...

"LIFE IS SHORT. SMILE WHILE YOU STILL HAVE TEETH." - Unkown.

Is that...what on Earth is that?

It's green. It has yellow spots all over it. It's covered in black sauce.

"Sabrina, Liebling, eat your steak."

Ooh. Now we're talking. Steak. Finally. It's been ages since I've had meat in Granny's house. Actual meat.

I'm trying to find the steak on the generously covered dining table, hoping to catch a glimpse of some red juicy meat, but I'm pretty sure a unicorn just vomited on our table, because the poor furniture is covered in every food imaginable, in every colour ever known to mankind. The one thing I can't find, though, is the aforementioned steak.

"There's steak?" I ask, quite possibly a little too eagerly, but god-dammit, I need proper food.

"Of course there is. It's sitting right in front of you. What a silly question!"

Sitting right in fro-wait a minute, that green and black monstrosity staring me in the face...is steak?

You have got to be kidding me.

"Umm, Granny, do you have any, ahhh, normal food?"

"But, Liebling, this is normal food."

I give up. Honestly. There's no point. I'm doomed to eat misshapen, possibly chemically hazardous, 'food' for the rest of my life. I should have known. From the moment I stepped into this crazy women's house ten years ago, my fate has been sealed. My normal food eating days are over. I'm done for.

"Yes, right, of course. Umm, could you pass the mashed potatoes?"

"Mashed potatoes?"

"Yeah, that bowl of yellow mush near your elbow."

"Oh, this. Liebling, this isn't mash potatoes. It's mashed Columbian Frog toes. Here, try some. It's delicious."

The moment she brings the small bowl near my nose, I rear back like a deranged bull.

"No! I mean, ehem, no, it's fine, Granny. I'll just eat the uh, steak."

Granny frowns but thankfully doesn't continue with this line of conversation.

Since I'd rather shave my eyebrows than eat fogs' toes, I poke and prod my piece of 'steak' until I'm sure it's riddled with holes. One miniscule bite reveals that the so called meat tastes like sour apples and vinegar. I subtly slide the steak beneath the table to Elvis, who attacks it like it's a piece of, well, meat. I still don't think it deserves that title.

Sabrina, one, 'Steak', nil.

I slouch back in my chair (yes, I know, horrible posture for my back, blah blah blah) and survey the table. It's not until now that I truly realise how much I've missed my family.

For the past eight months, I've been travelling. Ever since I turned twenty one, I wanted to see the world. Yes, cliché, I know, but the idea of visiting countries and seeing new people and places intrigued me. So I decided to give it a shot. China, England, Africa, Europe, all those tourist destinations, I've been to them all. It was a great learning experience, and I can honestly saw I've grown so much from it. It's been a real eye opener. Especially those less privileged societies I visited the most. It tears a persons' soul apart, seeing those lives ruined without a chance of survival. But I guess in a way, I helped those beautiful people. And its made my life that much better.

The old dining table has been replaced. In its place stands a dark oak replacement, with a rectangular bench and thick, sturdy legs. It's currently covered in Granny's Welcome-Back-Sabrina feast, so the poor thing will have to be introduced to me later.

There's eight spots at the new table, and at one end sits Granny, tucking into something purple and alien-looking. On her right side is Daphne, also indulging in some unknown substance. She hasn't changed much, actually. Still baby-faced, the former signature double braids now merged into one long one that rests on her shoulder. She's pretty, for a seventeen year-old, and thankfully she's passed that horrible hormone phase teenagers go through. She's back to the bubbly old Daphne that everyone loves, and occasionally wants to knock unconscious.

Next to Daphne sits Mom. She's aged, but by no means in a bad way. She's still gorgeous, just more mature, wise looking. She smiles when she catches me watching her, and I smile back. I've missed her a lot.

Dad sits opposite Mom, and next to Dad there's me. When I first arrived at the airport, Dad was the only one there to pick me up. After the necessary greetings and hugs and it's-so-good-to-finally-see-you's, he informed me that all the ladies, plus Mr Canis and Basil, were busy preparing dinner. When he said dinner, I expected a few dishes or so, but what I didn't expect was enough to feed ten armies, as well as the Royal family.

Dad's grown more laid back over the years. He's not as overprotective of me, though he's still shielding Daphne from the 'real world'. I guess that just makes him a good father.

Mr Canis is...well, Mr Canis. He's still his same brooding self. Still quiet and reserved, though sometimes he steps out of his shell a tiny bit. Although that only happens once every few months or so. Trust me, we anticipate these moments weeks beforehand. Seeing Mr Canis behave anything unlike his usual self is fascinating.

Basil's next to Mom, being his usual annoying yet cute nine-year-old self. He's mashing something that looks like carrots on his plate, making weird bulldozer noises as he wreaks havoc on the poor, defenceless vegetables. It's a sad sight, preying on the weak like that. Me and Basil are going to have a little talk later on.

There's only one person missing.

"Where's Puck?"

The first thing I notice is the awkward silence. The second is the uncertain glances that passes between every adult member of my family (Daphne included).

I frown. This is highly suspicious. I mean, yes, me and the little scumbag had a little fight before I left, but it was a petty quarrel. Nothing serious. Me asking after him isn't weird, is it?

Dad is the first to break the silence.

"Puck's, uh...he's working."

I snort. Partly because Dad looks really uncomfortable, but also partly because 'Puck' and 'working' don't go in the same sentence. Ever.

"Working?" I scoff, because come on, seriously? "Working as what? A waste collector?"

Okay, that was too nice. Knowing Puck, that profession would be number one on his list. If he even has a list of career choices, that is. I highly doubt he does.

This time Granny takes over.

"Puck's decided to make good use of his time, I suppose. He works at the new café that opened up a few weeks ago, near the college."

Ever since the end of the Everafter war, Ferryport landing's been developing. Our once drab old town is now a fully functional one, complete with new shops, libraries, two new hospitals, every other town essential, and even a college and new school. It's come a long way. There's even tourists coming in again. Only a few Everafters remained after the barrier was removed. Some of our closest friends stayed, others moved on. Uncle Jake's back to travelling the world in search of magical items. I haven't seen him in almost a year. It's sad, but sometimes distance strengthens a relationship.

Right about now is the exact moment where the meaning of Granny's words sink in. Puck's working. Puck. As in, the over four-thousand year old pungent, immature fairy boy-well, man, actually-who's never worked a day in his life. Who's probably never even lifted a single item of clothing from the floor or willingly stuck his head under the shower.

It's disturbing, to say the least.

"Puck's working at a café?" It comes out as more of a squawk, but right now I'm too shocked to care. I narrow my eyes at everyone at the table suspiciously. They all look back with innocent, albeit uncomfortable expressions, except for Basil, who's doing this weird squinting thing with his eye and trying to lick his nose.

"Is this a prank?"

Mom sakes her head. "No, Sabrina, it's not a prank. Although it is hard to believe, Puck really is working. It was actually quite a surprise for us when he first started, but we've gotten used to it. It takes some time, but eventually you'll get used to the image of Puck flipping pancakes behind a counter. Trust me, it took us all a while, but we did it. You will too."

I'm silent for so long I think I've actually lost the ability to string together words. Everyone goes back to eating, and eventually I do too, because honestly, what else is there to say? Puck's working. That's the norm here now, apparently. Everyone seems fine with it. I better get used to it too, I suppose. Although Puck in an apron does raise a few eyebrows.

That night, I dream about Puck flipping Columbian frog toes pancakes and grinning evilly while he wore an apron that said 'Welcome Back, Piggy.' It was a horrifying experience.

I am never eating pancakes again.

...

That's it! I can't believe I actually wrote this much since so long.

I came to a disturbing conclusion the other day.

I'm nearly fifteen years old.

I haven't even done anything with my life. I'm going to be an almost-adult soon. I'll have to be-ewww-mature. And I'll have, dare I say it...responsibilities. Yuck. I don't want to grow up. Actually, I do, but I want to stay a kid with adult privileges. Life would be much more fun as a kid with no boundaries or limits. I need to do something with my life. Something useful.

Let's ponder life-career goals over donuts, shall we? I say yes.

I am calling on all you readers out there to use that pink mush inside your skull for a good cause and help me out with ideas for this story. What should happen/not happen? What shouldn't I/ should I put in here? Thoughts?

And, please, just give me a review. It's not hard, honestly! Just type a few words out in that box below, and you'll make my day a million times better. I honestly get so excited when I see that someone's reviewed or liked or something. It just gives me the happy-shivers. So please, donate a few words. It doesn't even have to be nice! It just has to be honest. What do you think? Say what you mean and mean what you say and all that.

So that's it, I think. I still have to come up with a name for this story. It's currently been dubbed 'UNTITLED (YET)'. So creative.

Read, Review, and go eat a lollipop.

:)