Downstairs, in the living room…774Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEMBiKCxBpz
The gas stove in the kitchen warmed the house, bathed in sunlight that rose over the wooden fence surrounding their rectangular garden, sloping downhill. It gave them a sprawling view over the town that seemed closer than it really was. Shadows wove across the floor of the house, which was filled with the scent of grilled fish and tea, as their mother poured hearty portions of soup for her two children, ensuring they received plenty of spring onions, white cabbage, and radish before placing their bowls onto trays. Their breakfast appeared simple, but there was nothing easy about providing good food for one picky eater who was late to rise. Elise sat down when she became disturbed by the noise of stomping footsteps flitting about overhead.
After briefly rinsing his hands in water, her father straightened out his suit under a grey overcoat and picked up his work bag with calm haste, sweeping his hair back and fixing his glasses before making his way to the front door with an automobile key in his hand. “I should be back by next week’s end.” Passing by Elise, he patted her head, who was patiently waiting for her brother to appear before starting breakfast.
His wife from the East, appearing not a day older than when they first met, brought the breakfast trays to the dining table, setting one down in front of Elise and another before the empty seat beside her. “Have a safe trip.” She prayed for him while undoing her apron.
Her husband, who often had a neutral demeanour, was at the reception, where he slipped into a pair of dress shoes with a shoehorn when his light-footed son hurried downstairs, more energetic than he was a few minutes ago. He swung around his father, who turned back and looked at both of his children settling down for breakfast, and his wife, who was smacking their television and adjusting its antennas. Fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the man unlocked the front door, stepping out onto the yard when a gust of wind briefly found its way into the house before the door quietly closed.
His footsteps moved around the house, and his wife heard an automobile door slam shut before the engine roared. In an attempt to fix her television, she firmly struck the box on its side, allowing the antenna to finally catch a signal as the screen colourised. Rubber screeched when the automobile’s wheels rolled out of the driveway as the static buzz of the television set began to produce intelligible sounds, albeit its audio and display were still fuzzy. Soon a moving image appeared on its screen.
It is eight in the morning, live now with breaking news… The news anchor sounded incoherent as the signal continued to falter. It has been confirmed… The Liberator, Father of the Revolution, Sean Kennedy, former President of the Thirteen States, was pronounced dead at the Royal Alber Hospital in Londing this morning at the age of ninety-seven. A press statement published by the hospital mere minutes ago confirmed that the official cause of death is cyanide poisoning… She informed the nation who were attuned to the broadcast, but her voice gradually faded as the attention of her listeners dispersed.
Elise leapt off her chair and placed her tray near the sink as her brother gulped down his soup as if he had been starved for an entire week, while their mother returned to her morning chores with the television playing in the background. When the boy too finished his breakfast, he tucked in his chair and left his bowls and chopsticks on the kitchen counter. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he picked up his schoolbag from the floor and raced Elise to the reception, clumsily bumping into the doorframe as he hurried along. The girl nimbly slipped into her shoes, but the boy was still fussing over the laces of his boots, and deciding she had waited long enough, she swung open the front door and skipped outside into the brisk air that made her brother shiver.
His eyes narrowed from the breeze, and he stood up, flipping a flat cap onto his head before he stepped over the threshold of the door. “Go shukkyo rō! (I’m heading out now!)” Yelled the boy in his sister’s stead with the wind dampening his voice.
Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, his mother peeked around the corner of the lounge’s doorway, hoping to catch one last glimpse of their faces. “Shōshin teki! (Take care!)” She replied with slight concern, but her words landed on no one’s ears, for the front door had already closed and her two children had set off.
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