The story of a girl and her mother after her father is killed...not really sure yet
She remembered the day as though it were only yesterday, and that was mostly because it had been--yesterday morning, when the sun rose above the treetops in a blaze of golden hues, and then faded, so that it was suspended in the sky by an invisible hand; a hand that choked the wind and brushed it across the winding streets of the small town.
She yawned and stretched and sat up, as she did every morning, and then tossed her nightshirt over her head and let her dangling feet hit the glossy wood floor, where there should have been a rug but wasn't. She pulled on a normal shirt, a blue one, and padded to the top of the stairs where smells were wafting upwards like heat waves, and she inhaled the scent of waffles, coffee, and she knew that Daddy was home this morning. Mama had never cooked a meal in the kitchen for as long as she could remember; the little girl doubted that her mother even knew how.
And yet there was her mother, at the kitchen stove, frying bacon. Her mother was a vegetarian, the girl knew, which was only a big word for "No meat." "No meat" meant that on Fridays, when Daddy brought home cutlings from the grocery, Mama would only eat salad and sip coffee, even though Kariya and her father both loved the taste of juicy pork in their mouths. She had taken this for granted, even though Daddy always brought home an extra Friday cut for Mama, in case "she changed her mind", he said. So the sight of Mama frying the bacon did make her wonder, although not enough for her to really think, because after all, she was only a little girl.
She noticed that there was a policeman sitting at the table.