Home Is Where The Heart Is

Chapter 1- You Are Cordially Invited to My Pity Party

Chapter 1

The first thing I'd noticed about moving was the immence amount of boxes. Cardboard boxes were everywhere, piled up, folded up, or open; they littered the floor. I could barely walk five feet without bumping into one. I'd stubbed my toe maybe five times, just in that day. Frustrated, I'd retired to my room early. You'd think that someone like me, who seems to be moving around every other month, would be used it, but every move brought new problems.

When we'd moved into this tiny apartment three months ago, I was never able to find clean clothes. Whatever happened to them, I had no idea, but I'd wash them, and put them somewhere, and they'd disappear. It frustrated the hell out of me, and, in the end, my dad's wallet when the lack of underwear became too much.

The only thing that kept me sane was my art. I knew it was a hassle to lug around my easel, my canvases, and my seemingly endless supply of paints everywhere, but if they couldn't go somewhere, neither could I.

From a very young age, I was gifted when it came to the arts, in general. I loved to draw, and when I was 6, I'd drawn intricate murals on every wall in our second house, and the people who bought it loved them so much, they left them up. 

I knew my dad was proud of me, but it was hard to bring all these things whenever we moved. Moving cost money, and money was something that was become more and more scarce for us these days.

I was in the middle of taking my sketches down from the wall, when I heard a large bang from the kitchen. I rolled my eyes, knowing my dad did something stupid. I went to check everything out anyway, manuevering through the maze of boxes and bags. Walking down the hall, my heart sank, seeing all the items that havent even been unpacked when we'd gotten here. Moving really did suck, especially when you did it as often as my father and I.

As soon as I got to the kitchen, I burst out laughing. My dad was on the floor, flat on his back, arms crossed over his chest, his face screwed up in anger and frustration. I'm not sure why, but I thought it was hilarious. Maybe I was just tired. My past two days were spent packing non-stop. Since we were leaving tomorrow, things had to be done fast. I'd barely gotten any sleep as a result.

My laughing seemed to surprise his, and he jumped, hitting his head on the dining table leg next to his head, which only made me laugh harder. He grumbled, sitting up.

"Dont laugh, Mree. This damn drawer won't open, and I fell." I giggled, and helped him up.

My dad was young, in his mid-thirties. He wasn't tall, standing at a mere 5'6''. He had messy, dirty blonde hair that matched his seemingly golden eyes.

I brushed his shoulders off, and fixed the collar of his shirt, jokingly. "Good as new." He smiled, and ruffled my hair.

We'd always been close, probably because we were so dependant on each other. Moving so much because of his frequent job changes, we were the only things constant in our lives.

"Which drawer?" I asked. He frowned and pointed to the drawer that he knew didn't open unless-

"You have to push up, then pull out, remember?" I said, doing so, and opening the drawer smoothly.

"Thats what she said." I heard him mumble. I rolled my eyes and walked back into my room, determined to finish packing before dinner.

After an hour, almost everything was in boxes and bags. All that was left was my sketchbook, the mirror, and my phone charger.

I looked at the mirror, and sighed. Today was not an attractive day for me. My chocolate brown hair was tied in a braid, and hung down to my mid-back. My eyes, usually bright and full of energy looked tired. It was then that I realized how much they looked my dad's. The color was the same, true, a golden brown mixture. They were tired as well, baggy. My skin looked bad too. It was a blotchy red, and I saw a few breakouts.