I am constantly improving. So don't get shocked if you find this chapter as a dialogue next time you see it. I am trying out some tips and writing styles I am currently learning!
And thanks for walking by!

Six months had flown by since we last saw him. His familiar sprouty moustache which always seemed to smile at them and his signature dot beard made even the sulkiest child giggle.

Ting Tong'

I rushed to the door wildly, sprinting down the creaky stairs. I had managed to gather the words written on the delivery truck- bouquet.

My heart leapt.

Bouquet symbolized numerous things for me, regarding my only parent, my father.

Yellow, the rays of sun conveyed bright health and return.

Red, the infamous colour of blood read disease.

And white... a fate the same as her mother.

Six months had flown by since we last saw him. His familiar sprouty moustache which always seemed to smile at them and his signature dot beard made even the sulkiest child giggle.

Seven years had given him enough time to master the arts of hiding stress and worry.

I recalled the Christmas carols we had sung together the last time he stayed. The fruit cakes and puddings we devoured, the slow dance we enjoyed when he tiptoed and hopped half the time like a monkey asked to perform ballet on its toes.

Obviously, later Fran laid clutching her belly, lying on the floor(she fell from the sofa)hardly controlling her amusement, camera in her hand.

She complained of her stomach hurting too bad and her heart physically drained after that show, though.

A sad smile crept up my face.Those were the happy times when all the three of us were home. Together.

Now, however, the times had chosen to take an ugly turn. I had been complaining of the plain omelet and bread that Fran always stuck me up at the breakfast. The other substitute was Mix fruit Jam(omlet was better) or Nutella which I delighted with all my living taste buds. But, last Sunday was movie night and you know the rest. It was cleaned to its depth like a miner grabbing it's gold. It felt new actually, brand new to be used as a jar.

I had been on the couch with Fran munching on the bread omelet sandwich when the news played. Terrorists entered the Jackslain border last night. Two deaths confirmed with ten soldiers brutally injured currently being treated at the ICU centre of St. Kenny's. They had entered in the dead of night when the postings were minimal and unalarmed. The chief commander is being asked how such a huge mistake ...

I couldn't hear the rest. I had switched the television off. My hunger had disappeared, lost with the news. I saw Fran, she was getting one of her anxiety attacks again.

"You did not take the medicines, did you? "

She shook her head. Her hands were vibrating violently. Her breathing turned ragged and she hardly breath.

"Calm down..." I helped her lay down on the floor, tears in my eyes.

" Breathe slowly. Take deep breaths... " I cried internally. It crushed me down to see her so helpless.

"Don't worry...all will be fine. He will be fine." I hoped she could hear me. She needed to.

"Just stay here. I am getting your medicines."

Rushing back to her bedroom, I grabbed the box which lay still on her dressing table peering out at nobody in particular.

Fran was having violent breaths, her chest was heaving hard, abruptly going about tantrums.

I helped her sit upright, rubbing her back. "Take these. Open your mouth, Fran. "

Fortunately, she did so.

After an hour, she was breathing soundly. Slow and normal.

Years of stress had taken a toll on her. From finances to grocery, she handled everything. Instead of going to parties and making friends, she stayed at home, paying bills, cooking and helped me in my studies. She was more than just a sister.

It was not like I did not help her. Cleaning the house, laundry and making dinner were in my part of the contract.

God had taken away my mother, but blessed me with more than just a sister. I always wondered if she ever craved for a motherly figure.

She had a strong heart and tough soul, there was no doubt about that.

The knock sounded again.

I hung onto the metal door handle, clinging to it as if it was a life support. I was terrified as well as curious. Anxious as well as expectant.

Finally, I managed to open the door as a cool morning breeze brushed my face helping my nerves calm down. Imagine the suprise when I saw a delivery man holding an enormous bouquet of beautiful yellow roses!

"Miss Yates? " he asked.

I beamed. "Yes, " before saying "that's me. They're gorgeous! "

Father was finally returning home.