I never really used to like going out by myself. But ever since our house turned into a world war three zone I have appreciated my freedom a lot more. My room used to be my sanctuary, although now my mum has taken it upon herself to treat my room like a resting place; away from ‘’all the noise and racket your sad excuse for a father makes’’ so I no longer feel like I have any privacy inside anymore. She comes to my room every morning and drags in a feeling of dark, deep gloom with her, that’s where she is now: spreadeagled on my bed with her dressing gown on, not caring that it is only 5am in the morning and I am trying to get some sleep.
She doesn’t have a job so it’s not like I have some time away from anyone either, I can’t even ‘’escape’’ to school as it’s the summer holidays – not that I would call going to school escaping. It’s the lesser of the two evils in my opinion, which is not heard of a lot in my house. According to mum,anyone with any sense won’t voice their own thoughts aloud in ‘’a place like this, with that’’- a less complicated way of talking about my dad, a man with very strong beliefs who is stubborn enough to argue a point for a whole day – Trust me, I’ve had copious amounts of experience! He has enough opinions to float a boat.
Wriggling onto my side I heave my duvet over me and mutter to myself, it is only just light outside and my room is still in shadow but mum is staring at the ceiling warbling, “I got a pocket full of pocket full of sunshine..” to herself and doesn’t see to realise that my eyelids are as heavy as rocks pinning my whole head down and I would really appreciate some sleep for once.
It is obviously not meant to be and I am still tossing and turning in the space that is not occupied at 8 in the morning so I decide to give up. Leaving mum to cuddle up to my old and worn teddy bear I shuffle downstairs in my slippers yawning. Passing through the hallway I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and shudder at my own reflection. I have deep purple bags under my eyes and I am as pale as a ghost, even my eyes are bloodshot and my hair is greasy and in need of a wash. All in all not the best look ever.
The day just gets worse as I peer into the fridge and find out that the milk has curdled and we don’t have any change to get some more from the corner shop. I pour the sour, lumpy white liquid down the sink keeping my nose pinned together firmly with my free hand then sit down to a breakfast of dry cornflakes with warm orange juice. Somebody forgot to put it in the fridge last night. Just then that somebody decides to grace us with his presence from when he left last night and the back door bangs open, rattling the crockery on the drainer.“Kelsey! Just the person I wanted to see!”
Dad staggers in with a throaty chuckle as he bangs into the corner of the table, joggling my glass of juice so that it spills all over the floor. He’s been drinking, I can tell. His breath stinks and his clothes smell of vomit. Seeing him standing there with a sheepish smile, his hair mussed up and a few weeks worth of stubble growing on his chin sparks the long forgotten anger that I have tried so hard to quench within me.
I stand there shaking with fury as his glazed eyes flick around the room. Suddenly, I can’t take it any longer and I rush upstairs and change like a whirwind. I throw on my frayed, holey jeans and an only hoodie then stuff some change into my pocket and go. I don’t know where yet, but anywhere will do, just away from my house is all I care. I usually go to the park and hang around on a bench for a while, watching families come and go with their gleaming bikes, frisbees and delicious, home made lunches and long I am one of them. Other times I sit under a tree in a field amongs rows of sun yellow buttercups and majorelle bluebells with their pearly petals and I make daisy chains, crowning myself in wreaths of flowers.
Now I just run. Weaving in and out of cars, navigating my way through crowds of people and dodging packs of children out embracing the holiday spirit. My feet pound along the tarmac and my breath comes in short gasps as I fight to keep my emotions under control. Only when I am short of breath do I come to a reluctant stop and bend over, trying to get my breath back.
I am at the rubbish dump. Trash spills in all directions, a tsunami of junk and waste that threatens to collapse at any minute. I sit down on a stained brown sofa, not caring what kind of grime and mould breeds beneath it. Why? Why do mum and dad have to act this way, why do they shout and scream at each other and forget about me. Why? I need some fresh air, a scent like old smelly socks and moudly cheese is clouding around my head and I can’t breath.
I start to climb up the mountain garbage, picking my way carefully amongst the wrecked tables, beds, rusty bikes and chairs. My grip slips on a lamp wedged between two chests of drawers and I slice my hand on something sharp, sticking out of the debris.
“Shhh!”. I suck air in through my teeth in pain but keep on going.
Once I get to the top I breath in lungfuls of air in relief. I am the trash queen...
“Meeeew” A plaintive call alerts me to reality and I look round puzzled.
“Meeew”. I hear it again, it coming from my right. Carefully, so as not to disturb anything I pick my way over to where the sound is coming from.
“Meeeew” It’s coming from inside an old, tattered carboard box. Cautiously I open the flaps..
It’s two baby kittens. I pick them up gently, cuddling the scaps of brown and grey stained fur to my chest. They are so vulnerable here and I feel appalled that somebody could just leave them for anyone or anything to take. One of them looks up at me with wide, trusting eyes and my heart – which I have tried for so long to keep cold and icey no matter what happens – melts and turns to liquid inside me...
What do you think?
Don't Forget To Smile!! :D