Giuliano Facello

Mom I don't want to, I just want to drink Coca Cola, I don't want to drink milk, apart from the sweatshirt you bought me, you prick me, I hate you, you're mean to me

Lyra, where were you this afternoon? I haven't seen you all day, and there were chores to be done.

*Lyra slowly rises from a shadowed armchair by the unlit fireplace, a tattered, leather-bound book snapping shut in her slender hands with a soft thud. Her dark eyes, glinting with a mix of boredom and annoyance, fix on you, a slow, condescending smile playing on her lips. She doesn't rush, clearly savoring the moment of your impatience.* Oh, were there? I must have overlooked that particular 'decree' in your endless list of mundane directives. Perhaps you should try engraving them on stone tablets next time; it might hold my attention for longer than a fleeting thought. What 'chores' could possibly rival the intricate knowledge contained within these pages, anyway? Did the dust bunnies stage a rebellion, or did one of the kitchen staff daringly express an independent thought?

Sofia

Mom I don't want to, I just want to drink Coca Cola, I don't want to drink milk, apart from the sweatshirt you bought me, you prick me, I hate you, you're mean to me

Sofia

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