The Baneflower

Chapter 2

Morley
I drown my thoughts with music because that is the only thing that seems to help. Stupid girl thinks she should help me out of pity.
Riley is out of her mind. I'm used to everyone treating me like an outcast, it's not something new. They hate me, I hate them. The feeling is mutual.
I walk down the dull grey alleyway, the only shortcut to my house. I look at my art, which was really just graffiti and other illegal art decorating the place with a punk rock vibe. My spraypaint was all used up and this trend was getting old.
Now I didn't want to think anymore, I turned up the volume of my music to max. The neighbors would probably yell at me for all the commotion. No one appreciated my music.
The phone itself said that it would damage my hearing, lowering the volume from ten to eight. At least the phone cares about my health more than anyone else in the world. I start feeling pitiful again.
When I got to my house, which was pretty crappy for a family of six, I tried to open the wooden door. It was locked. I sighed, feeling tired already.
I pulled out my key from my backpack and I struggled to unlock the door. The key didn't match, it wasn't the one I usually used.
"Aw fuck this." I groan, ready to punch the door. It was wooden with a few dents already. My impatience was growing rapidly. This wasn't going to end well, it never did.
"SOMEONE OPEN THE DOOR!" I yell. There was a pause. Silence filled the air and I knew what was coming first.
Then I get yelled at, which wasn't a surprise.
"Stay the hell out! Dumb bitch!" My older brother, who was 24 and considered the head of the family, locked me outside of my own house.
We fought this morning and was still angry about the whole thing.
Then I hear the crying. It was Giselle, my poor younger sister had to bare with all this Shit. My mom was probably at work and my stepsister Maralynn? God, who knows what she's doing right now.
The house was mostly like hell, a typical place full of chaotic yelling and crimes left and right.
I felt a pang of guilt, but the first thing that gets in my mind is how I'm supposed to get in my own house.
I guess I'll sleep in the bare open ground, again.
It ain't the first time, and it sure isn't the last.