Scavenge

Chapter 1

HI GUYS! you all are lucky, two updates in one week! dont get used to it lol :) Enjoy the first official chapter! ill dedicate the next one to the best commenter. LOVE YOU ALL (comment comment pls comment) <3 <3 

Friday, August 28th, 2015 - around 1200 words.

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           I don't go to the funeral. I don't think I would be able to take seeing her, like that, face done up all pretty, makeup hiding her wrinkles, grey hair flowing down her sides, neat and straight. Laying there in her best dress. Motionless. Something that she never was. 

           My grandmother was never prissy. She didn't wear make-up often and her hair was never straight. Her brown and grey curls usually bounced around her shoulders as she did something. It didn't matter what, but she was always moving. Whether it was scolding her grandchildren, or snipping her roses, she always had this age-less aura around her, full of light and energy.

          Really, the only reason I made it through my awkward childhood and early teen years was because of her. Just remembering now i can focus on so many events she helped me through. At age 5, realizing I didn't look the same as the rest of my family, my cousins especially, with my darker skin and the large mass of unruly frizz on the top of my head.

            I can still remember the distinct words she used, "Everyone looks different from each other," she told my sweet (but nosey) cousin, Trent. "Alia's skin maybe darker than your's, but your hair is darker than Riley's.**" She said in a frank voice, setting down our lunch plates, "Eat up."

            At age 8, during the beginning of the turmoil between my parents, I was desperate for any kind of guidance. I would go to Grandma's house for shelter everyday after school. Anything to get away from my unbearable parents.

             I told her everything about my day, about school.... and she would ask questions and act really interested, as if 3rd grade drama was as good as it gets. Anything to keep me distracted.

             As I got older my problems varied in importance but my grandma stuck by my side through all of it. No matter if it was the death of my beloved father, at age ten or the idiocy of teasing middle school boys at age 13. Grandma Eloise was more of a supporter to me then even my mother ever was. 

            Speak of the devil and he(or she!) shall appear. Flinching at the crash outside of my door, I listen to my obviously drunk mother clomp up the stairs.

           "AAAAAAAHHHHHHLEEEEEYYYAAAAAAAA" She shouts, half-shrieking half-slurring. "I KNOW YOUR SKINNY ASS IS IN YOUR ROOM" she shriek-slurs again. I can only understand it from years of deciphering her drunken rage speak. It sounds a lot more like "I KNEOW yoursk EENY asssssss you ROOM". 

           A glass bottle crashes into my door, the rain of glass hitting the ground with a delicate tinkling fairy-like sound, a direct contrast to the harsh words being pelted at me through the door."FUCK YOU, YOU AWFUL WHORE."

            My mother says breathing onto the other side of my white door. "SHE WAS MY MOTHER. MINE" She heaves, and it sounds like she is puking. "YOU HAD NO RIGHT. NO right. none!" 

            I roll my eyes towards the heavens and pray she falls asleep soon. I have to get out of this house. "She always liked you better," My mother sobs, crying hysterically now. I think it should only be a couple more minutes before she is completely out.