The resturaunt we decided to dine at was Lucarelli's, a high class Italian bistro, in the town of Port Adams. It was near vaccant on a Wednesday night. The lights were dimed to add to the ambiance. A quaint violoin solo was playing quietly through the hidden speakers. My family was seated at a large oval table in the center of the dinning floor.
I took the empty seat next to my little sister Ren.
Mom's gaze went straight to my purple converses and her face paled. She gave me a look that said she didn't approve. I smiled, pretending to be oblivious. Luckily the waiter came to take our orders.
“How was school Little bird?”, my father asked once the waiter had left.
I did a 360 to make sure that nobody was within earshot of that comment. I had told him time after time to drop the nickname. Sol had picked up on it years ago and adopted it for her own, best friends having cute nicknames for each other was alright. But when your dad did it, it was just patronizing, Not to mention William Jenkins, was a bustboy at this resturaunt. I'd had a crush on him for three years, I'd have to work extra hard at keeping my family in line tonight, so they didn't embarrass me.
“Fine dad.” I answered crisply.
Sawyer was seated next to Ren. A waiter brought out a basket of warm breadsticks's and took our order I didn't waste any time reaching for one, then mom cleared her throat. “Don't you have something you'd like to tell your brother?”
I dropped my breadstick back in the basket, and wiped my hands on the cloth napkin in my lap. Ren copied my actions to a T. I shot her a look. Even though she was thirteen she still had this annoying habit of copying my every move from time to time.
I brushed her off, and met Sawyer's expectant gaze. “Cool Story.” I chimed with feigned excitement.
Sawyer dropped his own bread stick, “It's not a story it's a warning.”
I looked at mom and Dad if they weren't convinced he was mental before maybe now they would be, only it wasn't expressions of concern written on their faces but rather that of proud dotting parents.
Our meals arrived shortly there after. “No refunds.” The waiter grinned oddly, setting our plates down.
Dad was mumbling something like, “Fine by me hoss, just don't expect a decent tip for that kind of rud-.”
And his words were cut short. The table began shaking. Our silverware hit our plates with a clank. The Glassware shattered. I thought it was an earthquake. Sawyer was shouting, what I'm not sure. My ears were Suddenly filled with a loud piercing noise. I thought I was going deaf. A blinding flash clouded my vision, that's the last thing I remember of my parents final moments....alive.