Y/N POV

I grew up with my father in a city called Pierre. I never really understood the name. My father said it was french for stone. I always wondered why they named it that. I was treated fairly well, had a few good friends. Now I was a 19 year old woman and still lived with my father. He still looked around in his 20s, but in reality he was 49. I walked downstairs and sat next to him at the table. He was , as usual, reading the paper. I never knew who my mother was. Every time I'd ask, he'd change the topic almost immediately. I sat down next to him and ate my breakfast. He was the best cook I knew. I looked at him, "what's going on now? You look upset." I tilted my head to the side. "Augh this stupid writer has it wrong...the guy wasn't stabbed with a pointed pipe. It had to be something else, a gun or blade of some sort. The wound was clean and bled slowly....aaauugghhh it's so annoying." he spoke frustratedly and threw the newspaper on the floor. He was a detective and was trying to solve the case of these new murders. I sighed and drank my orange juice before putting my plate in the sink. I looked at the clock, it was 8:30 am. I'm two minutes late to my job. I ran upstairs and got my black bartender outfit on and ran out the door. I worked as bartender at a local bar/resturant called Grillbys. It's a place that welcomed both the monsters and us humans. Grillby was a pretty nice guy, for a walking fire. I ran down the road. Not fully looking where I was going til it was too late and a ran into somebody. I fell and landed on top of them. A groan was heard from the other, I on the other hand grunted in pain.

(welcome to my 5th story ....I hope you're enjoying it so far. Well see ya on the flip side. Remember...STAY FRESH.)