Truths Unravel

Chapter #4

After school, I travel through my old street, Notreal Street, and try to go as slow as possible. I don't want this stunning sunlight going away from me, yet. I admire the gorgeous, grey, blue, and white houses lined up on the left side, and on the right, is Pine Park. I stop in front of a grey and blue house, my old home, and stare at it; I take a stroll through memory lane. All those happy times in this house have long since gone. I feel anger rising in me; I don't want to go back to my broken, dull home, where no one loves me. I want this house, and my parents who loved me. I feel like I've lost so much; I feel broken.

I decide to leave because I see some kids approaching my old home. I don't want to be standing here when they reach the house; they might think I'm crazy or some robber. I walk towards the end of Notreal Street, but take a quick glance back at my old home, before I turn the corner onto Hilren Street.

15 minutes later, I'm at the foot of Andale Street, and the houses here are nothing like the ones on my old street. Here, the houses are all dull grey and some occasional black ones. Even though the sun never shines on this street, the grass here is, still, all dried up, and it's too long. The wood on most houses has rotted away and makes it look like the structure could collapse any second now. Also, any animal to ever come onto Andale Street, never gets out. The poor animal somehow dies, and no one bothers to pick up the dead bodies. It smells like death and rotted wood mixed together; sometimes, if you're unlucky, you can smell the nasty scent of alcohol. This street is also known as the place where I live. I've lived in this dump since my parents vanished.

I keep sulking my way to the end, and reach my dull grey house. I sloppily get up the stairs to the porch, grab the rusty old door handle, and push as hard as I can to get it ajar. Once I'm inside, the disgusting scent of alcohol rushes over me, a bottle crashes to the ground, and I hear the thumps of Isaac's footsteps. I watch my brother trip over many boxes and beer bottles, until he's a meter away from me.

"YOU'RE LATE," Screams Isaac, and spit flies out, too. Isaac has dirty blonde hair, like my dad, but he's never gotten a haircut in months; his hair is all over the place and looks unwashed. His eyes are halfway open, and if they were to ever be fully open, they would scare you out of here. His eyebrows make him look like he's frowning all the time, and his cheeks are hollow. Isaac looks short due to slouching, but he's actually 6"1. He's wearing sweats, with a baggy grey shirt; he's been wearing that for the last 3 days.

"No, I'm not late, and why do you care? It's not like you ever talk to me." I cross my arms and stare at him.

Isaac ignores what I just said, and is about to turn around to get another drink, but before that, he says, "Party, tonight. Don't get out of your room. I don't want my friends seeing my mess of a sister."

I'm about to laugh because he thinks I'm the mess, but I suppress it. I watch Isaac leave my sight, and run up the creaky, wooden stairs, pass Isaac's messy room, and enter my room.

My bedroom is nothing like the rest of the house; it's has white walls, has lights, and I have colourful objects that make my room seem friendly. I love my room the best because it doesn't make me feel depressed, unlike the rest of my house. I re-created this room when we got this house. Emory helped buy new paint, since Isaac wouldn't lend a penny; the rest is from my old room.

I jump onto my bed, and grab my phone. I see that it's 3:45, and I have time to kill before Emory gets here. I decide to finish Mr. Hargton's essay, and some other homework I have. Before I know it, it's 7:00, and Isaac's friends are about to arrive.

It's 7:14 and I hear footsteps; Emory is here. I open my bedroom door wide, and see Emory with a bag full of food.

"I thought we might need some food." She grins as she steps into my room. She throws the food onto my bed. "Isaac's friends are already drunk, and the party didn't even start," she says as she opens a bag of chips. "So where do we start?"

I walk up to the white desk in the corner of my room and open the bottom drawer. "We start," I begin to say, "With reading these." I lift up a thick stack of papers and Emory flops onto the bed and groans.

"Guess it's a good thing I brought food then," she says as she grabs a few papers from my hand. "Let's start."