"GET UP ASSHOLE!" A man yelled. "YOURE SO FUCKING LAZY, MAYBE THIS IS WHY YOUR MOM LEFT! FAGGOT!"
The boy in bed rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, his vision slightly hazy as he stared up at the face of his father.
"Get your ass up and get that fucking school. Not as if you're even making anything useful of yourself anyways." He stalked out of the room, kicking th guitar propped up against the dresser on his way out.
The boy sat on the bed and listened to the floorboards creak as he stumbled back to the couch. He waited until he couldn't hear anything, the tinkling of glass bottles being drained and set on the ground with countless others had subsided and I could hear loud snoring, signaling that his rampage was over. He turned to look at the alarm clock setting on his desk. The blinking red numbers read 9:47.
I should be in History right now, taking notes on a bloody revolution or a period of enlightenment.
"Shit." He murmured as he threw on a pair of ripped jeans and a t-shirt. He carefully shuffled to the bathroom, flicking on the lights. He looked at my reflection, examining himself.
Mousy brown, unruly hair that desperately needed a trim. Forrest green eyes flaked with brown, long eyelashes fluttering sleepily. A skinny, lanky frame, scrawny but tall.
"Ashton Jordan, age 16, future deadbeat." he muttered, and laughed bitterly. He brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair, tugging as he ran into a few tangles. He walked out and into another bedroom, careful to avoid the glass bottles that littered the hallway.
A shock of blond hair poked out from beneath the covers. Walking over to the bed and pulling the covers away from the body of a small boy, covered in a baggy t-shirt and shorts.
"Wake up Jamie." he said as the child sat up and stretched. "Can you make it to school on your own today? I'm already late, and it's not very far away."
"Mmhmm." Jamie replied.
"Thanks." said Ash, ruffling Jamie's hair as he left the room.
He stumbled about his room, searching for a pair of socks.
He pulled them on along with his worn Converse and grabbed his black backpack and headed downstairs, creeping past his father. He was in his usual spot, passed out on the couch, an empty beer bottle still in his hand.
Ash jogged to school, past the empty streets and vacant houses, all as barren as the people who lived here. He stopped, practically collapsing against the curb. I should've eaten something he though, maybe I wouldn't feel so fucking dizzy. He sat there for a while, drawing patterns and random swirls on his bag with a metallic Sharpie that he stole from the art teacher.
Finally he sat up and walked the last block and right through the doors to Pecklo High School.
