Cover

Two

As I walked in the door to my house I noticed my father on the couch watching the T.V.. There was almost never a moment when he wasn't sat in front of it, laughing at a sitcom or shouting profanities at the news. Therefore, it wasn't a shock that he was there when I came in. Wanting to avoid any conflict with him, I went straight to the stairs, which led to my room, only to be stopped by my Mom.

"Franklin, would you come in the kitchen for a second?"

I mentally groaned and walked back towards the kitchen. As I entered I smelled the casserole in the oven and my mother leaning against the counter.

"Have you decided if you're switching school yet or not?"

"No mom, it's only July"

"Well, I need to know before August so I can sign you up"

I nod and she reaches up and picks some lint off of my shoulder, and then she motions for me to leave.

I head to my room for a second time, closing the door behind me and falling on my bed. I grab my note book from under my pillow and continue where I left off.

I like to write stories. They're mostly for myself, an outlet for frustrations and pent up emotions. I can let my imagination run free and not have to prevent myself from allowing even my most outrageous thoughts. I can be completely and honestly me and not have to care if everyone else will accept it.

It's a chance for me to step out of my fake me, leaving my true self completely exposed, but where only I can see. In my stories I can be hateful and angry, or caring and gentle, whenever I need or want to be.

Most of my stories are about realistic events, but some of them contain pure fantasy, which is lovely for a break.

I don't share any of my stories, as I never really think they're worth sharing, they're my releif and only that. Besides, if my friends or family read them, they would probably be appalled or bored.

I released my anger from earlier by killing off a character from my most recent story. That might sound morbid, but it did help me feel a little bit better. I really don't think that it matters, unless there's another dimension completely controlled by stories written in this one. A silly thought, even for me, but a wonderful story idea for later.

I scribble it on the cover and set aside my note book and pencil. I roll onto my back and stair up at my ceiling. It isn't long before thoughts are swirling from earlier, about why Kat would have tried to reconnect Sam and I.

After the break-up, I had been too hurt to think about how it would affect our mutual friends. Maybe Kat hadn't really thought about it, I mean, she can be pretty oblivious at times.... but why wouldn't she mention it to either of us? And why did Sam look so hurt? She was the one who cut me off. I wanted to be friends, but she couldn't stay friends with me after I dropped the bomb on her. Maybe I brought this all on myself, it's not her fault I'm corrupted.

More and more thoughts flooded my brain untill I drifted off, unintentionally falling asleep.

***

OOF, I didn't update for a while. I mean, it's not that affecting, but sorry to my one reader. Shout out to Makadoodle: The love of my life.