Bullseye

Chapter 1

This is my first published work and I want to improve - there is always room- so feel free to leave any feedback on my writing and what I could do better. I would love to hear what you think.

~Ali

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I walk towards the house after school, thinking about how eleventh grade teachers know nothing about the subjects they teach. I would make a better teacher. It's a nuisance to always have to correct them.

Well, I guess that's a consequence for reading so much, but seriously I never thought that reading could show me how benighted and ignorant people are. Reading is how I learn. If it had words I will read it without hesitation, chances are it could teach me something.

Though, I read a lot of informational books, varying from college textbooks to the findings of 1400 scientists, I also enjoy classics, short stories, and horror stories, such as Edger Allen Poe. That's probably the reason why I score so high in English, Science, Math, and everything else.

I was a year ahead in school. Mediocre people would find that impressive, while I find it insulting; I mean, I should already be in college! But my undad never wanted to take me to the testing locations or sign the papers. I took one exam in the third grade-and clearly passed-because my unmother signed the papers, and the test location was the school, which I walked to.

I stepped into the house. I won't call it my house like others would since it's not, I didn't buy it, so it's not mine. Technically it would be 'home' since I lived there and have for my whole life, but I didn't think of it as home, my heart was never here, too many horrible memories.

The house seemed empty, but I know better. I have been analyzing my family for sixteen years -my little brother for the four years of his life- and I can tell you where they are and what they are doing any hour of the day.

My undad was, most likely, in the basement admiring his weapon collection. Technically, it's both of my unparents collection, but my unmom was never around; she deals with outside of the country jobs. It consists of any weapons that they were allowed to keep, for they are both weapon historians. There are bows and arrows, knives and swords, tridents and spears, guns and even brass knuckles. Basically, any type of weapon you can think of.

My siblings were both in there rooms. My brother, Thomas, was probably playing in his room and my twenty-one year old unsister, Nicky, I'm assuming, is on her phone.

She got home faster than me since she was given the luxury of a car. My parents bought Nicky a car for her sixteenth birthday. I on the other hand, have to buy my own car, because life is so fair. I still don't have one.

Of course, any other sister would pick their sibling from school, especially if she passes my school on her way home, but not Nicky. Nope, no way. Giving me a ride wouldn't even cross her mind. She was so very selfless like that.

I walk up the stairs to go to my room. As I stroll past my siblings rooms, I see that my assumptions were correct. Thomas, with his warm, innocent eyes and childlike brown hair, was playing with his cars-that cutie-and Nicky, with cold black eyes and ebony hair, was laying on her bed, cell phone in hand.

I enter my room, throwing my backpack into a corner. The left wall was completely covered with celling to floor bookshelves. On the right side I had a my work/writing desk. All my past work is in 4" binders that were on selves above my desk, organized by and genre, then date.

Not only am I a colossal reader, but I'm also a major writer as well. Just anything that has to do with literature. It's my way of escaping reality, escaping pain, escaping solitude, escaping fear. My writing is the way a express myself, let my soul pour out. Reading is how I spend time with my friends(Aka the characters and authors). I need them, or else who knows where I would be. I would have lost my sanity a long time ago.