They All Have Loved Ones

Chapter 1 (Part 2)

   Two hours down, seven more to go, GOD I would do anything to end this unbearable car ride. Imagen stepping into an elevator, with a stranger, and having to go up the elevator for hours upon hours. The short talk is awkward and that feeling in your stomach of dread doesn't fail to go away. Some parts of you want no sort of conversation to be said, but after thirty minutes of zero talk, it feels just as awful. What the hell is supposed to be done in those sorts of situations. It's a loop of anxiety and annoyance, and I can't stand it! Another factor in this equation is that I have so many questions to ask her. Why did she hurt dad? Why can't I talk to him? Even sending letters like in ancient times would suffice. I want her to know how much I hate her, but the only reason why I haven't interrogated her yet is because I think if I started, I'd blow up to the point that I'll wind up doing something I'll regret. She may be an awful mother, but I suppose it's the best i'm going to get.
   
    Roses are red
    Violets cry in blue
    The thought of never seeing you again
    Screams I hate you

    Maybe one day I can write at least a half decent poem. Right now though, it's frankly the only thing keeping me sane. Most girls tend to keep journals and diaries, but I never really liked blankly writing my feelings out. I feel like I process emotions more neutrally if I have to think about them more deeply.

    Driving for miles in one direction
    Thinking of the way you use to give me affection
    Driving on and on
    Thinking of the way you use to give me attention
    Driving on and on
    Thinking of the way your words caused tension
    Driving me insane
    But don't worry, I learned my lesson

    See that, I even incorporated the forever drive! I can be too proud of myself sometimes, but I mean you gotta enjoy the little things in life, right? Without the little things, is there even a point of pretending to be happy? Yes, you heard me write "pretending". I have never once met someone that was truly happy, that is besides my father. Everyone has something or someone to hate in life. You hate your job, but put up with it to pay the ungrateful kids back home. You hate your friends, but refuse to drop them because you know you truly have nobody else. You hate going home because your family smuggles you but never puts you out of your missouri; just a tourture you can't escape. You see what I mean? If you asked me, the only other people I've ever truly seen happy besides my dad are the ones that don't fall in line with everyone else. These sorts of people are also referred to as "insane". They follow their own set of rules, do what they want, and take what they want. In your head you're more than likely picturing someone in a mental hospital (more like a mental prison) but that's not what you should be picturing. Putting them in places like there only makes them worse off, they can't be happy because they are being forcefully broken back into lawful citizens. Such as a spine with scoliosis being ripped out, taken apart, put back together in the closest original form as possible, then shoved back into the body it came from. I suppose they get a straightened spine out of it, but is that tortuous pain worth it? Not to mention that fixing the spine wont change one's bad posture, so don't kid yourself, nothing has truly changed.
   
    The sound of my mother's car-tire, shrieking squeal wakes me up. I looked up almost forgetting what hell I was still stuck in. That is until my vision focused and I saw the name of our new town "Glennsunburg". For once I agreed with my mother's excitement. With my nose practically touching my window door; most people look at the buildings of a new town, but I much rather prefer to watch the people. It can say alot about the environment. The first person I see is a jogger running with her dog. The dog doesn't seem to be enjoying the morning jog, she's practically dragging it. Subject 2, a man with his kid, though I can't really tell if the kid is a boy or a girl. Nope, I see it now, Father with his daughter, but if I was to guess, he always wanted a boy so in order to get any sort of attention from him, she dresses and acts the part. Quite pathetic if I do say so myself. Subject 3, reading a book on the bench outside a mini-cafe. Something about her really strikes me more than the others, I'm not exactly sure what it is. I couldn't see what she was reading but the cover had red splatter on it, interesting. If I was to guess, a murder-mystery novel. I'm going to go out on a limb that she grew up with strict parents, that or she grew up with just one parent that had a handful of rules and restrictions but because they cared. She definitely had a couple friends but wasn't ever allowed to meet up with them till she got older. Meanwhile the other parent left while she was young, more than likely the father figure.
    "We made it, finally!" my mother exhaled, interrupting my analysis of the Bench Reader. I definitely need to follow up on her, and for once, I can admit that I'm excited to do so.
I look out my window to see the rustic looking house. It's far bigger than our old place in the city, but it also looks like if you so much as lean on it, it'll fall faster than an egg in a tree. Deep down though, I will admit, it looks pretty cool, but don't think for even a second I would ever admit so out loud. It also has the appearance of a smell, if that makes any sense. If I was to say, it would be the smell of rotten wood. Nevertheless, it has a lurring feeling to it, my dad would have loved it, that's for sure. Under better circumstances, I would be electified out of my mind right now, ready to explore, but how can I be when I might not ever see my father ever again because of this stupid house and stupid move. She's going to get what's coming to her, it's just a matter of time. It'll hit her over the head before she knows it.