Sitting on my bed I see my sister, writing away at her journal at the rickety desk that dad had made for us three years ago. My sister is fourteen, si... years older then I am. When our mom died Lynn, my sister, took over the position, Lynn cooks and cleans for us now, and has a little time to do school work. After two years she has gotten very good at being our mom. If she ever complains she never complains to me. Dad likes to remark on how she looks more and more like our mother every day. Lynn. "Okay, spill it, what's up?"Carmen shook her head, "Nothing." Her hair fell around her face, hiding her outbreak of zits. It was blue today, she'd dyed it with cool-aid again, some of her friends had probably talked her into it. I'd liked it better when it was its natural brown, almost the same color as her skin, and halfway down her back; the way it was before she cut it short last year right after the announcement about the swarm.I reached over and brushed it back with my fingers so I could. More

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