When I wake up, the other side of the bed is freezing. My long arms stretch out, seeking Prig’s warmth, but finding only the soft velvet cover of our mattress. I try going back to sleep, but it’s no use. Today is the day of the ripening.
You might be wondering, what is the ripening? Is it the day where all fruits are supposed to ripen? Well, no, actually. The ripening is the day where two children, a male and a female, are chosen to participate in the Hunger Shames. The Hunger Shames is a tournament where children, ages twelve to eighteen, battle to the death. When I go over to my mother’s bed, I see Prig there as well. Prig looks as beautiful as the prig rose she was named for. When she’s sleeping, my mother looks younger. People say she used to be a very nice, kind, beautiful woman once. Now she’s just plain evil.
Lying at the end of the giant bed is the world’s most disgusting cat. Terribly mashed in nose, torn up ears, eyes the color of a rotten banana peel. Prig named her Sunflower, insisting that her terribly muddy snout and nasty eyes were as bright a yellow as the flower’s petals. Sunflower loves me. I hate her. She trusts me too much, considering that I tried drowning her when Prig brought her home. That was years ago, though. This cat must not hold a grudge for long. The cat looked extremely fat, because of the worms it had, although she was a scrawny little thing, and she was covered in fleas. The fleas were even starting to cover Prig. Prig didn’t seem to notice the disgusting little bugs, though, or she just didn’t care. Whatever the reason, the fleas, worms, deceases, all the things wrong with the cat just didn’t seem to affect her decision on keeping the nasty little creature. That was the last thing I needed. Another mouth to feed. But Prig had started crying, trying to guilt me into letting her keep the cat. I couldn’t stand seeing my sister like that, so I let the cat stay. It’s turned out to be okay, though. Every time there’s a mouse, rat, or some other nasty little creature, Sunflower disposes of them. I won’t go into further detail, though. It’s pretty hideous. The cat has started to clean up its own kill, though, so it spares me from having to clean it up. I’ve stopped trying to drown her.
This is the closest I will ever come to loving that ugly rodent-like animal.
I get my hunting boots out from the closet and slip them on. Soft, supple leather that has molded to my feet. I put on some jeans, a blouse, braid my waist-length, dark brown greasy hair, and grab my hunting bag. On the table, under a plastic bowl that has been slightly shifted by weak little Sunflower, lays a perfectly circular, small goat cheese. It’s Prig’s gift to me on ripening day. I roughly slide the cheese into my pocket and head outside.
(Sorry guys, this is all I have so far. Tell me if you want more!)