Candy Paint--a Willy's Wonderland FanFic

Chapter 1

I promise I'll go back through and fix whatever plot hole and grammar errors I missed, I just needed to get this out there before the craze dies off

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 If it weren't for the subtle tapping of a broken air conditioning coil I would've been asleep by now. I hadn't the energy to cover my head with the pillow I had turned over and over again, so I just lay there. Glancing to the left, my alarm clock displayed the ugly cyan digital font of 2:46am. It had been at least a week since I was last able to sleep. This occurrence hadn't been uncommon in the past, though, as I had spent many sleepless nights with my eyes glued to unfinished essays, math exams, and other miscellaneous garbage I never finished anyways. College; however, had just gotten out for the summer. Since I no longer needed to drive a half hour out of Hayesville to attend the decrepit remains of Rockwell County Community College, I'd find myself with a lot more energy during the day. Nevertheless, there was no excuse for not being able to sleep, especially since the air conditioner finally shut off for the night. My dad's trailer home didn't have central cooling, and he wasn't the kind to pay for it either. Although it was a small place, air conditioning rates were sky-high in the town of Hayesville. If it got hot indoors I was left with no choice but to run what was left of the air conditioning unit duct-taped inside my window. It didn't do a great deal of relief, but who was I to complain.

As the unit shut off, a peaceful silence covered the room. The entire house, I noted, was completely silent. That was almost as rare as my nightly rest. Bonzo, the dog I had owned since childhood, had run away nearly five years ago. At least, that's what my dad said. In later days, the only noises remotely resembling any noise Bonzo used to make might be the slamming of doors, or the deafening clank of pots and pans being thrown across the room. Sometimes my younger brother, Luke, did a decent job of creating a never-ending racket too.

Finally rolling onto my chest, I made an effort to shove both forearms underneath my pillow to help prop my head up. Facing the window, the only view I got was a dreary shot of my neighbor's trailer home. From what I could remember, the residents were an elderly couple that rarely ever left. They always kept their windows shut, so no one ever knew what was going on inside. The last time I had seen either of them, they had driven off in their 1976 Chevy Impala and never returned. I didn't particularly care for them, or anyone in the neighborhood for that matter. In the cul-de-sac of trailer homes smack dab in the middle of rural Hayesville, there wasn't much to be talked about between its residents. And when there was, everyone managed to know about it. Mostly due to the Hayesville Police Station Facebook account, which me and several of my acquaintances made frequent appearances on. I wasn't one to start fights, but I sure as hell would finish them. If my mugshot wasn't featured with a black eye or two, I was pictured with a "signature face", as Sheriff Eloise so kindly put it, after ripping up I-80 with Dad's Mustang. The Mustang, although pretty old, was undeniably fast. With a blue paint job and a white flame decal on the right side, it was definitely an eye-catcher in a city of people who didn't need cars. The 1995 convertible had been bought with what little money Dad and I could spend. He was a night shift gas station employee at the 7-11, and I was completely jobless. Dad liked to claim the Mustang was his only get-away from Hayesville. For that reason, my weekends were usually spent alone, as Dad would often leave town for the entire weekend. I never knew where he went or why he left. Since the 7-11 was so close, I was free to use the Mustang during the week, as long as I stayed within the monthly gas usage. Dad and I made an agreement to only use one tank of gas a month. That didn't always work out, especially for me. It was a good thing I knew people at the gas station who could hook me up with a gallon or so for free. Any time I was ticketed for speeding, Dad would ground me for a few days. He usually forgot why, though, as alcoholism seems to impair memory. Even if I was grounded, though, it's not like Hayseville offers anything worth going to. There's only a few reasons anyone ever comes through here. They're either running off a tight budget, or running away from the rest of the world.