Anastasia On Her Own

Cover Anastasia On Her Own
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Genres: Fiction
She groaned. Why was it so hard to get up in the morning?
Frank, her goldfish, was swimming in circles, chasing his own tail around his bowl. Frank was always wide-awake and cheerful in the mornings. He was the kind of guy who would go jogging at dawn, if he had legs.
Groggily, she reached over to the fish-food box and tapped some into Frank's bowl. If only she could do all the household chores without getting out of bed.
"You and I have very little in common, Frank," Anastasia said, yawning, "
...except that we both like to eat." Frank stared out at her with his bulging eyes through the side of the bowl. He flipped his tail.
Down on the second floor, she could hear sounds: the shower running, her father's feet squeaking in the bathtub, and Sam—Anastasia groaned and got out of bed. Sam was crying again. Ordinarily Sam never cried; once she had seen him fall right over the railing of the back porch, head over heels, into a prickly bush. Then he had climbed out of the bush, covered with scratches, brushed himself off, remarked, "Ouch," and gone scampering off to find his tricycle.
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