The Last Night

2

"Hey, hon," Mom chirped. "Whatcha doin'?"
"My homework," I muttered.
"I just wanted to bring you a small snack." Mom placed a silver tray on my desk with string cheese, chips, red grapes, and an orange. It was as if I were at a hospital's cafeteria.
"Thanks," I said.
Then she left.
I stared outside.
I looked at my street.
Siochana Road: happiness road in Irish.
I stared past the diminutive brick dwellings that stood proud side by side. Each dwelling was painted in a different color. However, they were all light shades of yellow, pink, blue, green, white, and purple, making the harlequin road look like a town in the Caribbean. Telephone poles strung the streets like Christmas ornaments. Satellite dishes poked out of the peak of each lanky building.
I wouldn't say our neighborhood was poor, but it was extremely packed. People horded through the neighborhood like no other. Plus, there were beggars every so often doing their payless job of asking for money, which they only got sporadically due to the lack of money in Siochana Road. We lived in the poor section of the city. Near all the orphanages and gangs and graffiti walls. No one, I repeat, NO ONE, would come to visit Siochana Road. Or at least, no one would want to.
I shook my head and looked down at my paper. One sentence: Dear Friend,
Why would I say friend to a person I loathe?
My eraser danced along the page.
Nothing.
FOCUS, SAMARA, FOCUS!!!!
But I couldn't.
My mind kept drifting off to the outside world.
I slapped myself.
Focus.
I tugged my hair.
Focus.
I pinched the fat layer on my arm.
Focus.
Focus!
FOCUS!
FOCUS!!!!!!
Why couldn't I focus? It was as if a glass wall separated me from the paper.
Then I wrote the person I despised. Me.