Hey guys! I'm starting this back up again. I'll try to update this whenever I can, and yeah.
If you don't understand this chapter at all, that's okay. You're not exactly supposed too. xD
Hours
When twenty-four is is just too many to go through in a day.
Point Of View: Jenna, Child of Hermes
Those days when you're just stuck here...
I guess, you could almost call it ordinary. The same as any other. Average in a way, a normal sort of sense.
Nothing too odd, too strnage, or quite that unusual. No, not yet.
In fact, perhaps not for awhile, quite yet.
And, it begins everyday. The start of the day, started with the murmers of light streaming through the poorly drawn drapes.
It's here, and now that I begin my everyday day.
I wake up.
The cold air playfully tickles my face, persuading my lips to turn thus more cold and chapped than they already were before. Small little pink goosebumps, find their way up my neck, they then transform themselves all over my body. Even if my body is still yet underneath the covers. Somehow, the cold air, still penetrates my blanket, thus making it slightly less warm and safe feeling.
And, sometimes I wonder if I really do want to use my strength to pull the blakets to my eyes. The move, to breathe, and to sit up, and face the day.
Would it matter, if I just stayed here all day? I mean, would anyone really care, or even notice, if I never moved from this spot. Sometimes I even wonder if anyone would even really miss me. Or perhaps, even if she still thinks about me at all.
I just want to know. Does she think me dead? And, yet does she miss me, as much as I miss her?
It's not even a simple matter of sometimes. It's a matter of "All Times".
Because, you see, I always worry about her.
And, maybe him a little bit too.
Like a friend, or a brother. He'd always help me laugh, it's always helped me recover, in times when I needed it most.
And, so there it goes. Everyday here, I lie under these covers, and worry so desperately about a Sister, and Brother.
Well, that is, until they come.
You see, even in days with the leasest amount of neatness, and routine. With no repition, or sun tickling me under my covers. They still seem inclined to come.
And, you know what they do?
They just sit there, and talk to me. What they mainly do, is ask me questions.
And yet, they say these things to me. They ask me out loud, about the answers to their questions. All they want is answers, they want the answers to everything in which I hold, so dear to my heart.
They tell me what they want to know.
Sometimes, they tell me with tones of curiosity. They ask so kindly, and so sincerely. They honestly want to know. Am I feeling okay? Is there anything they can do for me?
And then, come the harder questions.
The questions they ask, that when left unanswered. They begin to change their tone. And so, they threaten me, with scary thoughts and words of pain. With demanding loud voices, and big thumping steps.
And, so I begin to tell them.
I start back again. I reset, and go straight back to the beginning. My mind spins, my hands reach out, reach out for anything. They reach out for something, something unknown. That I just know, little to nothing about. And, yet when I reach out, I touch nothing. And, so I keep rewinding, I reset myself, until I am back to the very beginning of time.
I tell them the same thing everyday.
Saying the same thing every day. I like it. It's like mere repition. A repeat, a record forever playing. A routine, a schealude. Just something for me to go by. It's nice, I believe. Because this world I have been thrust into has no routine, and I do not like it at all.
And so, everyday I tell them the exact same single thing:
I tell them nothing.
