CRYING, everyone was crying. Why didn’t anyone cry before all this? I already did my weeping, five days ago. Just five days ago did I learn of my father’s death during his work trying to get others out of the fire. He saved fifteen people, but not himself. He didn’t make it. I look around, wondering why people saved their grief for this short little assembly to remember him. I bet they’re crying because they feel bad. They didn’t know him like I did. I knew him like the back of my hand. He was the only family I had left. My mom died while giving birth to me, so now I’m alone. Dead alone.
Looking around, I see so many sad, wet faces. Some buried in shoulders, some up in the air, not caring what others thought of them. But me? I feel almost nothing. I feel a small sense of sadness, but I force it down. It won’t help me if I become a sad, weeping, helpless thing that walks around. I have to be strong. If I go back to my so-called home crying, I’ll get teased until next weekend.
People walk around me giving me their condolences. I recognize a few faces, but I don’t talk much. I just nod my head and say the occasional thank you.
I need to get out of here. said a voice in my head. The sooner the better.
Just a few more steps then I’ll be out the door. One, two, three, four, out. I’m finally out in the open air. I breathe in the sweet, fresh air and relax a bit more. The birds sang sweetly, but it seemed as if they were mocking me. Like they were telling me ha, we have a perfect life and you don’t. Well joke’s on them. I may not have a perfect life, but at least I don’t need friends to keep me alive. If it were my choice, I’d rather live on my own, not with my horrible foster mom and her hideous daughters. I step onto the premises of the house and readied myself for the harsh, stingy words that will lash out at me.
The house isn’t anything to be quite happy about. It’s medium sized that can fit four bedrooms all in a line. The outside is a gross shade of yellow. Almost like a moldy yellow. Not pretty. There’s only one giant window above the obviously worn-out door. On the other hand, the front lawn was very taken care of. Though that’s only because the neighbor, Kendall Trilper, takes care of it. There’s flowers of all the colors you could think of and trees that just take your breath away. The grass is always that perfect shade of green and emits a freshly cut scent twenty-four seven.
I brave myself as I step on the ratty old door mat and open the door, being sure to clear my face of all emotion before taking a step inside the house. As I step inside, I heard yelling from a bedroom.
“OMG! I can’t believe you USED my hairbrush without asking me!” shouted Dixie
“Well it’s not my fault you leave YOUR stuff lying around the house!” argued Delia.
“Then next time ASK before using!”
“Ugh! It’s just a hairbrush, Dixie! Now GET OUT OF MY ROOM!!”
“Fine!”
Next thing I knew, Dixie stormed out of her sister’s room. Dixie’s a little short for a sophomore in high school, but her attitude certainly makes up for it. Dixie has long brown hair that almost glows. Her eyes are a steely brown that’s almost black. Today, her hair was down with some frilly pink headband. Dixie was wearing a floral print skirt with bright tank top layers. Oh, and her shoes were almost four inches high. When she saw me, an evil smirk plastered her face.
“Oh, hello there, Homeless. Finally home from your poor daddy’s funeral?” mocked Dixie. “Or did you come so you could cry your eyes out on your bed about your worthless life, huh? Maybe hide in a corner today? What about running away? Actually, no. forget the other options. Run away. That would make everyone happy, you worthless piece of parentless scum.”
