Guess who got to update early? It's extremely cheesy and not the best, but hey, it's done!
Thanks to those who stuck around to the end, those who reviewed and favorited, and followed, etc. This isn't the end-you'll be seeing more of me in the near future. Enjoy!
Ten Years Later
You stand behind the bedroom door, waiting for the footsteps, the voices. There's muffling around down the hall and you have to bite your tongue to prevent the laugh that's threatening to leave your lips. Your hiding spot is not affective in the least bit, but for this purpose, it'll do.
You don't remember what you did to get into this situation, the reason forgotten as soon as the game began. You remember making a bet-whoever wins get the best room in the house-but that doesn't matter to you.
What matters to you is the voices that are getting louder, closer.
"Why is Mommy hard to find?"
"She's really good."
"Do you think Mommy will win?"
"Let's hope we win, silly."
The voices are so very close, you can swear that they're right by you. Taking that as a cue, you slip out of your hiding spot and stand right behind the owners of the voices. You're glad their backs are to you and the lights of the room are off. The only light source of the room is the evening light streaming in through the window, but the curtains that block it only allows a little light to peek through. There's also the hallway light that they kept on, but that doesn't supply the room with much light either.
Slowly, you reach out and grab the voices' owners, having to keep your mouth shut tight from the overwhelming urge to laugh.
The voices were arguing where to look next, blaming each other for not trying hard enough, but they stop and freeze when they feel you.
"Boo."
Then there's a scream of terror and delight arising from the two people. They run out of the room; you following in pursuit.
Once the two reach the family room, they look at you, surprised. They are only children and you just scared the day lights out of them. You don't mind, realizing that these two beautiful and amazing children are yours.
The little girl who is no older than five hugs your legs and begs you not to do such a thing again. She looks at you with those big, sweet, brown eyes-her mother's eyes-that you make the promise and mean it.
The boy who is older than the girl by two years gives you such a goofy, lopsided, grin that you return it with one of your own. You ruffle the kids' hair and hug them both close to you.
They are yours.
You love them so much, but not quite as much as a certain someone.
Speaking of that someone, you hear footsteps coming towards you and the children. But you don't worry because you know it belongs to no one other than your wife of seven years.
Mikayla Makoola.
She comes closer to you and the children, her face full of worry and concern. In her hand is her machete, but as soon as she realizes that the noise was caused by you three, she relaxes enough to give a tired smile.
The children groan and complain that the game is over, that there is no winner.
You and your wife exchange knowing looks. Your wife-oh, your beautiful and wonderful wife-declares that you all are winners, and that you all deserve the best room of the house.
Even if there is no winner to the game, you've all won something tonight, might it be different prizes. You and your family retire to the biggest and most comfiest room in the entire household. The space in the bed is limited; all of you have to crowd in to prevent falling to the ground in the middle of the night. It doesn't bother you because you're with the people you love the most and sometimes, that's all that really matters.
You might not be a King living in luxury, but if this is the next best thing, it'll do.
Besides, the memories you make and keep count more than where or when or how you make them.