Volume 1, Chapter 1 - The Shots Fired In My Kitchen
Chapter 1, The Shots Fired In My Kitchen
“Memento Mori”, remember that you will die. What kind of parents would give their child a name that so closely relates to the previously mentioned omen? That’s right. My parents. Although, I don’t really remember them, nor do they ever come up in my mind as of late. I would change my name, but unfortunately, the minimum age for a legal name change is 18 in Deceterra. Regardless, as of right now, my name is Hanshin Mori, and I’m currently heading to Leo’s… I mean my house after reading at the library for a bit.
“You don’t have to say that every time you get here, Mori, we have a doorbell now for a reason.”
I walked into the living room after taking my shoes off and put my bag in my room, proceeding to drop it next to the messy stacks of physics books and creating even more of a mess. It’s 20:14 right now, and I have just realized---
“Get down here! It’s time for dinner!”
I hurried down to the kitchen. Leo prepared the food with such care and delicacy that it looked like he was a professional chef.
“Behold! The magnificent Calivero pasta plating technique passed down through generations!” he said with a reasonably loud voice, as he twisted and twirled the pasta onto the plates.
“Leo, there won’t be any more generations if you keep spouting lines like that,” I remarked as I took a seat.
“You know Mori, some things are better off not being said,” Leo replied as he took a seat on the other side of the table.
“Take it as constructive criticism,” I said right before I started eating my pasta.
There was a bit of a pause as we both started eating our food.
“Oy Mori. In hindsight, don’t you think it’s weird to eat pasta for dinner, rather than lasagna or something?”
“I don’t really think so. Pasta is actually quite tasty during nighttime.”
“Ah, you do have a point there. Man, my pasta is the best, I'm probably the best pasta chef in all of Deceterra, no, the North American continent, or maybe even the world!”
I refused to reply to that, he may need to get an ego check. Although to be fair, the pasta is delicious.
“Itadakimasu” Leo said as we both finished our meals.
“Wait a second. Remind me again, why are you the one saying ‘Itadakimasu’ when I’m the Japanese one? I don’t even know Japanese but I know for sure that you don’t say ‘Itadakimasu’ after you finish a meal. It’s ‘Gochisousama’ or something like that, how could you not know that? Aren’t you a scholar or something?” I stated without any anger but rather extreme confusion.
“I’m not a scholar anymore, those days are long behind an old, wise, and cunning guy like me.”
“Really? You’re 23. You’re only six years older than me, so you don’t have the age nor the wits to make such bold claims.”
“Age is just a number, it doesn’t change anything…”
“You do know that they won’t let you make pasta in prison, right?”
“Come on Mori, it’s just a small, funny joke. Nobody will get arrested over that!”
“Say that to the person who yelled fire in a theater and got two weeks in jail with a five thousand dollar fine.”
“You really do know everything, don’t you Mori?”
“I don’t know everything, only what I know.”
“I didn’t teach you to steal catchphrases!”
We kept on making conversation after dinner, and it really was a refreshing talk after all the work I did in the morning.
Then, the windows shattered, and I could only hear one thing. The unforgettable crack of thunder that is multiple bullets being shot into the wooden walls of our house. Again. The locked safe of questions I kept in the back of my mind burst open like an egg hit with a hammer.
Why does this keep happening to us? Who wants it out for us so badly? Why are they so persistent that they keep finding our location before even one month has passed in our new place?
I stopped thinking about those things though, because at that time, 20:47, I was forced to focus on the bullets coming for my head.