Stand Tall

Chapter 1

Mallorie woke to the sound of her blue, cat-head shaped alarm clock, blaring noisily into her ears. It was a gift given by her grandmother on her birthday only a month ago. She turned 13, at last. Turning over, she smacked the top of the clock where the snooze button lay. Dull light of the morning sun shone through the room as she rubbed her half-awake emerald eyes to check the time on her clock. "6:30," it read. She groaned, realizing she forgot to account for daylights savings yesterday, leaving her up an hour early before school. While she wanted to drift back to sleep, she thought it would be best to just get ready anyway, even though it only took her thirty minutes to get ready, as she was not a big fan of using make-up, her complexion seeming like it required no additional touch-ups besides.

She rose from her bed, the caramel strands of her brown hair blocking her face momentarily, and she pushed them aside to see her room before her: A simple baby-blue twin-sized bed near a window. She had a desk in front of her and a dresser-drawers to her side, both a smooth, dark, brown wood, polished and kept neat, yet, while they seemed simple, they stood out in the small and almost barren room she slept in. On the dresser was a few books and sketchpads, all of which she read through and filled up. Her desk had a simple laptop which she was given last Christmas by a friend before she moved to a new town on the outskirts of Los Vegas.

Stretching, she pulled of her covers and jumped off her bed, landing feet-first onto her soft grey carpet floor. She moved over to her drawers, and changed from her grey nightshirt and blue sweatpants to her normal school attire, regulated by school policy. Pulling down her shirt to finish the appearance of her ensemble, she walked over to her door and slowly pulled it open. The hinges creaked as she did so, sending a low moan out into the hallway she began to peer into, yet no voice or sound responded to the noise.

She opened it more and stepped out into the dark hallway, the wood floor cool against her feet. She walks quietly, yet quickly, down the hall, past the box-filled spare room and the bathroom, a bit of a mess. Reaching the end, she turned her head into her living room and tried hard to focus in on the scene.

Her father layed passed out on the recliner he owned, a pack of cigarettes protruding from his pocket. He wore baggy jeans and what used to be a white tank top. Mallorie sighed at the sight of her father asleep, unable to say anything to her. She always disliked him, mainly due to how he treated her. For a father, he didn't even know the basics of parenting, often forgetting she existed. But when he did, he acted like an ass towards her, saying she's got nowhere to go and always putting her down, both verbally and physically.

Quietly walking a fairly secure distance from him, she reached the kitchen, and came apon the sight of her mother passed out on the stool of their bar-counter, a beer in her hand and drool pooling out of her mouth. The small light above showed off her messy hair and an old dress, and the more Mallorie looked at her, the more she wanted to do something about her. But she decided not to.

Moving away from her, Mallorie opened the pantry and took out a small pouch in the back hidden between a few Instant-noodle boxes. It was a pouch of Pop-tarts she bought and had stored away for her breakfasts. She often times wanted to avoid her family as much as possible, if possible, and having food on-the-go helped with that.

She quickly moved back to her room and shut her door into place. Flopping the packet onto the bed for later, she decided to see what was new online. She grabbed her laptop and began to type. "Facebook" was the first thing. Looking through the different pieces of information, she found that Donald Trump was gaining more of advantage in the Presidential campaigns, ISIS was starting to wear down a bit, and national debt was becoming less and less of an issue. She smiled at these thoughts, realizing a lot of people are happy with the results.

Next, she checked out DeviantArt to see how things were going. Ignoring the "New" section to prevent her from seeing weird things, she moved on to her own art. Her post last night was doing fairly well, and she was loving the comments, but nobody there truely knew who she was.

Finally, she visited YouTube. She always had a fondness for YouTube, not for the video aspect, but for how creative people could be. She started browsing, watching an interesting movie review, a cute animation, and a funny LP. She got so caught up in it that she almost forgot the time. Realizing she had to leave soon, she grabbed her things, put her Pop-tarts in her red and white jacket, and made her way outside, picking up her pace when she heard her father start to wake up. She left the house as if she was never there to begin.