the light is dim in the kitchen. It's silent outside, except for the occasional car driving by in the distance. The sun, filtering through the clouds, makes everything outside shine in shades of orange and yellow. There's a package of instand macaroni and cheese left in the cupboard, and you take it, reading the instructions. You feel kind of weird. Lonely, but also not. It's hard to feel lonely in your home, because of all the memories that live there. Of you and your mom, hanging out. Of neighbors visiting after your bedtime, and you sneaking into the hallway to hear your mom gossip about celebrities and other such things. The many times you had breakfast together in this very same kitchen.

but it's still weird to be there alone. In a... grown up place, maybe. Normally, the kitchen is where adults cook, and though you're in high school, you're still a kid, really. But it's alright, it's just instant mac and cheese, and you know how to make it. The instructions are on the back of the package, after all. They aren't in the country's main language, but one of the sub languages, but it's fine because you know it pretty well.

You heat up some milk. You open the packet of cheese powder and pour it into the milk. You cook the macaroni in the mixture. It smells chemical, but nice, too. Even though it probably isn't too healthy, it's still warm, and pasta is good because it has fiber, or something. You check the fridge just in case, but of course there aren't any fresh vegetables. Figures.

The macaroni is almost ready. Your mom is almost home. You turn the gas down to the lowest it can go and run around the house, wondering if you cleaned everything properly. You don't want to disappoint mom. You're glad you hid the box. You don't know why, but you think she'll get very mad if she sees it.

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