They call me Story Reyes, and I'm 23 years old. Most people would call me depressed, but i prefer the term carefree (as in, i dont care about anything.). I'm pretty much all alone, but i don't mind. My brother died when i was 13, and after that, my dad left us and my mother went insane. Now i live in a dirty, cramped apartment with my pathetic old dog, Scruffy (whose name is very self explanatory).
I jolt awake from my deep sleep, reacting to the sudden ear-splitting noise that is my alarm. I tug my dark blue skinny jeans over each leg, shimmying my feet through the holes until they glide on. Next, i slip my brown leather jacket over my dark purple t-shirt. I pull on my combat boots and braid my mint green hair into two fishtails. Men. I think as I glance at the mirror.
In the rusty old kitchen, i prepare a delictable quisine like breakfast-something i like to call "Cocoa Puffs and Milk." As i sit at the small table, only hearing the cereal crunch, Scruffy hops onto the table and laps up some cereal, causing the milk to splatter everywhere.
"Scruffy! Now I'm gonna be late!" i swiftly mop up the table with a paper towel i found on the floor.
Finally, i run down the stairs and get into my red pickup truck. The Radio is currently playing some Spanish gospel song, so i turn the dial to alternative rock.
"Do i wanna know!" I practically yell, "-if this feeling flows both ways!" i sing, missing all of the notes, as the wind blows back my hair.
I sigh when i see "Marty's Froyo Shop," my workplace.
Attempting to avoid scolding, I sneak past the manager.
I quickly put on my apron and rush to the cash register to take the customer's order.
"What can I get for you Ma'am?" I say, plastering a fake smile onto my face. I really hate this job.
After a long day of nothingness, work is finally over. Normal people my age would be partying or seeing a movie or something on a Friday night, but not me! Instead i get to sit on the couch and watch my prehistoric television that rarely works. Yay.
As I ride home, I nearly hit someone standing in the middle of the road. Idiot.
"What are you doing?! Move."
"Excuse me, but do you know a Parker Reynolds?" a young man (around 25 years old.) says as he walks over to my window.
"No." I say bluntly.
"Ya do now!" he smirks. "Hi, nice to meet you. Can I get a ride home?"
"Sorry, I don't drive strangers around. I believe what you are looking for is a taxi."
"But I'm not a stranger! We've met! Remember, about 10 seconds ago!"
Who does this guy think he is? I figure it'd be harmless, to drive him home.
"Fine, get in." I sigh. Why do I have to be so kind?
"K. 5579 27th street."
That sounds familiar. Oh yeah, its the apatment complex where I live. Da.
"How convenient." I say, pleased, yet annoyed this man lives in the same building as me.
Once we arrive, I get out, and so does he.
"Why are you getting out?" he asks.
"'Cause I live here." I say, then whisper, "Idiot."
"Oh so were neighbors! Yay!" he says, a little bit too enthusiastically.
We even happen to live on the same level.
"Well, see ya around!" he says, sounding very childish.
I sure hope not.
As I walk into my apartment, greeted by Scruffy, I set down my jacket and take off my shoes.
I pour him some food and take out my braids. I hear my stomach growl as I take out a Lean Cuisine. While my dinner cooks, I collapse on the couch and turn on Criminal Minds.
Beep! My food was ready. It was very quiet as I ate, besides the sound of the television. Sometimes it is peaceful, but sometimes It feels a bit depressing to eat alone...
Suddenly, the television goes fuzzy, then shuts down. This happens all the time, due to its age. I decide to go on my laptop and continue writing my book instead. I grab my reading glasses and turn on the computer. Eventually, I fall asleep on the couch while writing.
