My mother died three years ago. And my father is a workaholic. He doesn’t come home very often. But I don’t mind. It makes the house more peaceful. Tranquil. I have no friends, or siblings for that matter, I’m all alone in this huge house. And that’s how I like it.
I picked my keys of the counter as I walked out the door. The squeaky floorboards creaked as I stepped of the porch. My Chrysler ME sat in the driveway waiting for me. As soon as I was out of the drive, I stepped on the gas. The car growled and jolted underneath me. I rolled down the window and stuck my arm out feeling the air move around my extended arm.
My name is Ashen, Ash for short. But its not like anyone would know that. I never speak in school. Not to the nosy teachers, not to the slutty Barbie’s, and most definitely not to the devious men, though they do plenty of talking to me. They pick on me for my lack of a social life. Most of the time this includes calling me names, pushing me down, knocking my books to the floor and other petty lame antics that are not even worth mentioning.
I am not a shy girl, and neither am I a rebellious teen. I have a reason for the silence, I don’t trust anyone, especially not to the homosapiens of the male persuasion. They are slimy, conniving, lying, no good butt cheeks that break your heart if they get the chance. Well they won’t with this girl, I’m already broken.
