a heart's end

One

Monty
"Well, if you don't wanna go fishin', what do you wanna do?" My little brother Marco whined. I turned away from my laptop screen to face him. He had a little dirt on his face from playing outside and his bottom lip was slightly poked out. He had learned that he was at the stage where a pouty lip and big sparky eyes meant he could get his way. As I sighed, Mathis came into the kitchen. As the eldest, Mathis had a slight shadow of a beard and was more broad. His entrance was almost overpowering if he had not been smiling his goofy, lovable smile.

I looked at Marco as Marco looked at Mathis. Just like I knew he was going to, almost clockwork, Marco whined toward Mathis.

"Mathis, will you pleeeease go fishin' with me? Just for a little bit?" Marco's little 6 year old hands were locked together and his eyes were bulging from this so called "beg" face. I didn't mention it the first time, but it looked very creepy up close. Mathis turned to him and laughed. He patted Marco's head and sat at the chair next to me, kicking his feet up onto the table only inches away from my laptop.

"Aren't you a little to old to be whining like a little girl?" He smacked his hand on the open seat next to him, inviting Marco to take a seat next to him. At being compared to a girl, Marco stomped up towards Mathis and started trying to fight him. My hands went up to my temples, trying to massage out my coming headache.

"Aren't you a little old to still be living at home like a bum?" He yelled in between powerless hits, which made me bust out in laughter. Marco's cheeks flushed with unwanted attention brought upon him.

"Don't say that kinda shit to me." Mathis growled. Marco glanced up at Mathis whose face was scowling , then smiling. That's the thing about him, he never stays mad for long.

"Hey, not everyone can be as smart as Monty! Look at him, applying himself. Man, if I over prepared myself like him, maybe I could've made it through the first semester of college. But see the thing is, I have a life. Right, Marco?" He nudged me in the shoulder and I rolled my eyes and Marco busted into a fit of giggles.

"Monty, I'm kidding. But why are even on your laptop? You know where to go, who your roommate is. Classes haven't even started so why are you constantly on freaking out? You still have what, a week?"

"A week, yes, until school starts. I leave for New York in 3 days." I closed my laptop carefully, stalking my future roommate will have to wait.

     Even though I still am very curious about him. Auden Torid. Who has a name like that? Probably some freak yankee kid who smokes cigarettes, stays in his room, and listens to wierd indie music. Not my type of personality in the least. Honestly he is probably wondering the same thing. He is probably sitting at his kitchen table with his own brothers going,
"Who has a name like Montgomery Kingsley? Probably some freak kid who has never had a girlfriend, comes from some hick town in Mississippi, and has the personality of a dead cat." The thing is, I'm only 100% sure of one of these thoughts.

Anaelle
     This is horrible. Utterly horrible. As I sit here at this table that is too long and eat this food that tastes horrible and listen to people I don't know brag about themselves for another night, I'll scream. It is funny how that the thought coursed through my head. What if I just screamed as loud as I could right now? Would all of our snobby dinner guests be concerned? Or would they give a displeasing glance of annoyance to my try-hard mother, hoping that she would shut up long enough for them to finish their conversation about which yacht being most aesthetic to the eye? Probably the latter.

I cannot wait to move out, and go to a normal college. I just have to wait two more days, August 5th is when New York University starts. My go to city filled with unknowing people and dreams. To be nervous would be an understatement, but I am so adamant to leave. I will have a little piece of home with me, or what would one consider a place to sleep. Against both of our parents wishes to go to "the most prestigious school in Maine", we said to shove the money up someone's ass because we are getting as far away as possible without having to lose our inheritance. Donte and I do not care about following in our parents footsteps and all that comes with it.

See, Donte is a lot like me, I think that is why we have been together so long. We are both kind of dark; we really prefer rain and melancholic music, maybe a little vintage Nirvana and drugs. Lots of drugs. We both have had really messed up parents, mine being worse than his by a long shot. We both hate our lives, or at least our lives here in this world of tartè tartín for desert and weekend drips to the Virgin Islands and non stop bragging.

Some people say that would kill for my life, but they would kill themselves if they had to live in it for 19 years. This huge house holds secrets and the overpowering hill its sits on makes it seem so extravagant, yet all in all it feels like a jail. A stuffy jail with bedrooms instead of cells and the orange jumpsuits replaced with Tom Ford and Alexander McQueen.

A booming laugh from my father fills the room and I, as well as the guests, probably do not enjoy it. He sits at the end of the 20 foot long tables, and his laugh- the same laugh that has been in my mother's crying face, the same laugh he spat in my face after saying I would never amount to much, the very same laugh he had shared between his wife when they've had to much to drink, and the laugh when he himself has had one to many glasses of champagne as he sneaks up to his daughters bedroom now made the whole table join in with their own fake laughter.

I raked my hair through my fingers, watched the long black strands fall to the floor, and cleared my throat in annoyance. It is my goal to let everyone know how uninterested I am. I pop my gum after my mother glares at me, burning a hole into me and I roll my eyes. What are we, six years old? She looks over at Donte's sitting next to me and cocks her head to the side, as if telling him to control me.

Donte leans over to whisper in my ear earning a pleasing smirk from my mother. Instead of foul words in a mean tone like how my father would have controlled my mother, he whispers,
"I cannot wait to leave. If I have to eat another bite of this crap, I'll vomit." He chuckles along with me as we pat our mouths with our napkins.

I hate my life.