Eve White: Literary Agent

from A MILLION ANGELS

Tomorrow There Will Be No Pancakes... Tomorrow’s going to be different and I don’t like different. I like things the same. The same like Dad and me. The same like peas in pods and chips off old blocks. The same like our dark curly hair, like our gunmetal grey eyes, like the little dimple on our chins. It’s to do with pancakes too. My Dad is the pancake king and I’m the princess. That’s what Mum and Milo say, and every Sunday while we’re waiting for them to get up and come downstairs we make a pile as high as Everest. Taller than the sky. The best pancakes in the world. Then we sit on the back doorstep to talk while we polish our boots. We brush and buff till they shine like silver, till we can see our eyes twinkling in the black. And we talk about everything, Dad and me. About all the mysteries inside of us. About all our wonderings of the world. But tomorrow we won’t have pancakes because my dad will be gone. The stars are bright tonight. Glittering bursts of silver shining through midnight blue. But grey clouds are grumbling across the horizon. Rolling across the moon. Rubbing out the stars, and the wind is whisking up a storm that’s sweating under my skin and heating me up with fear. I’ve tried sleeping, but every time I drift off a huge eagle with sharp claws swoops down and drags me back. Then worrying images of bombs exploding everything to pieces start bouncing around again like popcorn in my brain. They pop, pop, pop and explode out of nowhere. Dark shadowy lumps that are hard swallow. I’m trying hard to rub them out so my brain is blank and clean. But it’s impossible to stop them. If only there was something I could do.