Amaya looked over at her alarm clock, no wonder it had failed to wake her when it was supposed to. Only a couple hours had passed since she had lay down to rest.

Her eyes grew wide with shock, even with the heavy gravity of fatigue pulling at her eyelids. "What?" She lay  back down without even realizing she was doing so. She had had plans on getting up, she really did. But it was late and the young girl was tired. "That's...weird..." She breathed out the words before falling into a dreamless slumber.

When she awoke again, it was right on schedule. She stretched her arms out and let out a mighty yawn. Her blanket had somehow ended up completely on the floor, and her pillow was at her feet. She must have been sleeping quite wildly.

Amaya climbed out of bed and walked over to her closet pulling open the creaky door. The smell of fabric softener and mothballs filled her nostrils making them curl up without her knowing. Looking at her small array of outfits, she decided on just some jeans and a blouse. The blouse had a small stain on it, it was from a pizza party a few months back, but you couldn't see It unless you payed close attention.

After she was somewhat satisfied with her outfit, she had rechecked herself in the mirror several times, she was ready for what ever was on the other side of her bedroom door for the day.

Things were crazy, things were really, really strange. But Amaya wasn't able to fully comprehend the oddness of the situation. She was still a child, after all.

Amaya walked out of her bedroom and down the stairs, for the millionth time she wondered why she chose the upstairs bedroom. It was so far away from everything. And for the millionth time, she remembered that's the exact reason she chose it. She did wish she had her own bathroom though.

"Hi, mom." Amaya called out oblivious to the fact that her mother was not there. It took her a few moments to realize no response was coming. And then a few more for her to realize it was because her mother wasn't there.

There was a small note on the table, written sloppily on a scrap ripped from a magazine. It read 'On errands. Be back later.' And that was it. "Love you too, mom." Amaya muttered out of spite.

She pulled a bowl down from the cabinet, it had a badly painted picture of a flower on it and still had remnants of raisin bran in it. Amaya seemed not to notice as she filled it to the brim with bargain brand corn flakes. She let out an loud hearty yawn as she drowned it with milk, almost to the point of overflowing.

A few (several hundred) miles away, a scraped up Lexus missing a headlight zoomed down the road. The paint job had several key scratches and was so covered in dirt that the once bright, metallic grey looked a dingy brown. It wasn't much of a problem though. No one really seemed to like the orange, it was pretty hard to look at. Mrs. Grant chewed on the inside of her lip, her grip on the steering wheel became a bit tighter. The leather on said steering wheel peeling back a little further. She needed to hurry up and get to her...errands. Hopefully Amaya could fend for herself a while.

The speedometer on the vehicle crept slowly up until she was almost pushing eighty. Her gas wasn't at it's fullest either. The vehicle groaned a mall but as her  foot slowly eased itself off of the gas pedal. She was thankful for the crispness of the air as she inhaled sharply.  One more right turn and she would be at her pick-up spot...

Even further away, machines and monitors beeped, filling the room with a sense of worry. The same machines had been hooked up to many people, and every patient knew their fate when they walked into the building. In most cases, the doctors and nurses knew as well. Mr. Grant wasn't in spiffy condition. The fiery, burning pains that encased his whole body were coming more and more frequently. Lasting longer each time, it wasn't the life he wanted to lead.

A vase of daffodils resting on table next to him had just about reached the end of their cycle. Just like him. He wanted to be the model father he had never seemed to be. There was so much he could have done differently that it was too late to do now. It was almost sickening to come to the realization that he would never see his daughter off to college. He would never have the chance to he the tough dad that intimidates boyfriends unworthy of his princess.

He wouldn't get the chance to walk his own daughter down the aisle. Or to get the occasional phonecall whenever his daughter had a moment to spare. He was going to miss all the best parts of being a parent, the thought alone made him want to unplug his machines earlier.

The only good thing was that he struck a deal with the hospital. When he actually did die, the hospital would have no contact with his family, They would forever think he had just ditched them, but that was better than knowing he was dead. In the case they ever did find out, it was better to hate a dead person than a live person.

Mrs. Grant rushing to meet her hookup in an abandoned alley. Mr. Grant lay on the hospital bed he would surely die in, and there was nothing he could do about it. All while the youngest Grant ate corn flakes while watching little children's cartoons, oblivious to it all, but still struggling with her own problems.

It didn't seem as though things would he getting better for the Grants any time soon.