In Perryville, it was a warm summer day, about ten hours into a Saturday morning. On the top floor of a two story brick house, a girl turned about under her thick, white covers. Eventually approaching a still position, she opened her eyes, greeted with nothing but an empty, spacious room. The blazing sun shining through the glass window filled light into the room. The desk arranged neatly, lifeless with the chair, stood still. Her closets were closed, trapping the wardrobe behind it. The feeling of peacefulness fell over her. The girl listened. She heard the spitting of the pancake on the stove downstairs. Silverware scraped the pan as the pancake was lifted up to be flipped, landing with a burst of more crackles on the pan. Footsteps were heard around the kitchen, possibly her maid preparing the breakfast. The rest of the house was silent. The girl couldn't quite smell the wonderful aroma of chocolate pancakes yet, but would soon be able to when she made her way downstairs. She swallowed, her mouth becoming watery. Hunger took over her, as she forced herself out of bed and downstairs to enjoy the awaiting breakfast.