Leonardo[in editing]

Chapter 1

~*~

I sighed as I laid in my bed, staring up at my ceiling once again thinking about the past. That's all I seem to think about now.

That's all I ever can think about now. I can't ever focus on anything else anymore. Since grandpa won't ever help me by telling me how he grew up. I still have so many questions. How they used to get around, transportation wise.

Did everyone just walk everywhere they needed to be?

Did they ride bikes?

Did they even have bikes?! I thought to myself.

I swear I spent most of my life in my room, laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling thinking about how it would be. Each day I focused on a new question. Today I thought about transportation. Yesterday, how they got their food everyday. The day before, what houses, towns, and neighborhoods looked like. Last week, what clothes did they wear, etc.

"Jackie will you please come down here? You've been up there all day!" I heard my mom shout to me up the stairs, interrupting my thoughts.

I just sighed and continued looking at my ceiling. I don't know how long I was there, but after what only felt like 5 seconds, there she was calling me again.

"Jackie I'm serious. Come down here! You need some air."

"Fine I'm coming!" I replied.

"My god get some patients." I grumbled to myself while standing up. I walked out of my room and walked down the stairs to find my mom in the kitchen.

"Finally. I have barely talked to you all week! How do you not ever get bored up there? All you ever do is sit in your room doing god knows what." My mother complained to me.

Did it really matter? Its not like I'm being a burden to your precious quiet time. I'm the quietest person in this whole flipping house. I thought to myself.

"Just thinking about stuff." I replied, once I realized she was waiting for an answer.

"Mhmm. What kind of stuff? Please tell me you aren't still obsessed with the whole "1940 grandpa time" stuff."

The way she said that kind of frustrated me.

"What is it to you? It's not my flipping fault grandpa won't tell me anything about his childhood. It's not my fault I'm curious. It's not my fault that the school doesn't tell us anything besides the stupid indians and government official crap. I could care less." I snapped.

After that I just sat down in a chair at the kitchen table and crossed my arms.

Its really starting to get annoying how she can't ever mind her own business, and just call me downstairs to talk to me about normal stuff. I thought.

She was just getting so dang flipping annoying! Why should it bother her that I actually think about stuff?!

"Well I just wanted to have a conversation with you. I didn't ask for the attitude." My mom told me, while washing the dishes.

I just rolled my eyes. If you wanted to have a conversation you wouldn't of started complaining about the stuff that goes through my head. I thought to myself.

"Sorry." I grumbled.

"Thank you. Now, what I was thinking was that maybe you could go for a walk or something. You have been in your room all day, and its almost 4 in the afternoon. I think you could use some air instead of staying all stuffed up in here."