It was a normal day, until it wasn't.
Weezie woke up early to get the jump on the chores, sweeping the living room and tidying up her mother's many knitting projects. She felt a twang of melancholy every time she did this, reminding her of how far Airen's mental state had fallen. She finished tidying up the area and moved onto the kitchen.
If she had time and the energy to do so, she would have to head to the market. The bread was nearly out and Weezie had to dig into the back of the pantry to find a good, ripe peach.
After her meager meal that left her much hungrier than she should have, Airen was already awake, silently knitting and rocking on the chair with the emptiness that Weezie had gotten used to.
"I'm heading to the garden, Mother," Weezie called, kissing her mother on the forehead.
"Be safe," Airen said absentmindedly, eyes focused on the paintings above the fireplace. Weezie had learned that her father, Snoden, was a painter, and had painstakingly handcrafted the pictures in the earlier years of the occupation. It was the only way Weezie clung onto Layra's distant memory.
"Of course I will," Weezie said, slipping on her ragged jacket and grabbing her weapons. She never went out without her bow and arrows - paranoia of the Black Band coming back to strike her mother preventing her from sleeping well at night.
The surrounding homes, stretching across the fields, were silent, the families subdued and quiet. Weezie spotted one of her neighbor's children, a doe around seven years of age with a sweet disposition, reluctantly trudging up the hill towards the city. Weezie hated to think about what would happen to her tomorrow, on Victory Day.
She continued tending to the garden immediately around the house, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to wrangle the mess of tangled weeds and wildflowers. It would take her years at this point.
Weezie sighed.
There was a rustle in the woods nearby. She froze, hands frozen over the gardening tools. Her weapons were just a few feet away - but if Daggler's band was truly watching over her…she didn't have much chance nor time.
She waited for a few seconds, voices beginning to slowly rise above the crest of the hill. In that few seconds, she ducked down and grabbed her weapons, stringing an arrow quickly. She only had a few more seconds before the Band was upon her, correct?
She stood up. Weezie had always imagined this day coming, the murderers coming to finish the job and erase their existence from the world. She strode boldly to the treeline, nocking a bow.
Two bucks emerged - both in ragged military uniform, swords obvious. One black buck and one gray-gold buck. She lifted her bow and aimed at the shorter one's head. Maybe by some miraculous stroke of luck she would hit him.
(It was a normal day. Until it wasn't. Picket changed the course of her life forever.)
It's "just another normal day..." until it isn't. What happens to make this day unique and/or crazy? Include at least two of these five characters in your story: Edward Weaver, Weezie, Cole, Kylen, and Picket.