Burning Tides

          "Bullshit! Utter bullshit!" I yelled to myself, while walking along the beach. I had just recieved my first progress report of the semester and it's already looking like hell for me. Never have I gotten a progress as bad as the one that I grasped in my hands. My grades are as follows: D in chemistry ( I have a strong disliking for science plus, this teacher is an asshole), C in english III ( I could do better), D in Trigonometry ( This stuff is very difficult to understand), F in Social sciences (This teacher is also an asshole), A+ in my spanish III elective ( I know Spanish, pretty much), and an A+ in my P.E. elective ( is it even possible to fail that class?). Most of these grades left me in dismay, but I couldn't blame anyone besides myself. I know already that the teachers don't give me a grade. I do my work, I give it to the teacher, and it is graded accordingly. Nonetheless I really messed up big time. When I apply for college they will see this quater-assed report card on my resume. This will probably ruin my chance of getting into a prestigious college, like Dartmouth, or even into any good college for that matter.

          I continued my walk down the beach. I looked eastward out to sea and saw the sun lying low in the sky. There were no clouds over head so I decided to take a seat and watch the sun set. I sometimes do this and I have a certain place where it is preferable. I found my sitting spot, It's a large rock jutting out of the sand near the back of the beach. From here I watch the sunset every now and then. Watching the sun dip below the ocean is just beautiful. In it's serenity I can hear the wind blowing, waves crashing against the shore, gull's singing there regular tune. It lowers my stress little by little every time I see it. It takes me around thirty minutes to walk here from school. It also takes me another forty-five minutes or so to get home from this position.But that doesn't matter. I need this, and it's not as though there's any punishment awaiting me if I got home late. I watched the sun set, picked up my things, and went home almost immediately for I had homework to do over this weekend. I like to do my homework as soon as possible so that I would have nothing to worry about later on. If I ever did wait to do it later, it may not be finished or even started at all. This was probably one of the main reasons as to why i'm failing many of my classes, or getting insufficient grades.

          When I arrived at my house I stepped inside and took my shoes off. I was on my way to the kitchen, when I encountered a women in her early thirties sprawled out along the carpet floor of the living room; straw in one hand, an empty bear bottle in the other. There was also cocaine smeared about her face, the carpet, and the coffee table. This disgrace of a human being was my mother, at least by definition anyway. Not too many good things can be said about her, but perchance that I needed to describe her it will be something along these lines: she got pregnant with me at the age of seventeen and then was ditched by my father, she is either drunk, high, screwing some guy or just being a bitch at home. She doesn't have a job so she is whore whenever she want's drug money or Heinekens. She pays the bills. Sporadically.

         There have been many cases in which she leaves for days on end without notice prior. I remember a time when she left for 8 days strait leaving me in the home all alone. When the food in the fridge ran out (almost two days after her leaving) I had to steal food from stores just to have something to eat. Never in my life will this memory leave me. And I was eight when that happened. She often brings other men over and is, most of the time, paid for her 'work'. I cannot tell you how much I hate this promiscuous degenerate I call 'mom'. All she has done for me was make me miserable, work hard, and grow myself up. Sometimes I really wish she would never return whenever she leaves. It would only make my life one thousand fucking percent easier.

          As I walk past her, little did I know that she was still conscious. She then makes an attempt to grab my foot. I move. She then says, in a drunk tone, "Get over here right now you fucking bastard! Jarold! Jarold Halsy! Listen to your- your goddamn... moth... moth... er-" and with those final words she passes out from the effects of the beer and coke combined. This came at no surprise for it has happened quite a few times before. I simply picked her up, put her on the couch, and went my way towards the kitchen. She always makes such a mess in the living room. I opened the fridge to see what I can make a meal of. The fridge was easily comparable with the arctic tundra. They are both cold, barren, and unforgivable places. I guess today I will be going to the store again, that just so happens to be 2 miles a  -fucking- way. I hate riding my bike at night. It's just creepy to be out all alone. But I have no choice. If I want to eat, then I need to go out there.