FR3AK- lams

1

(BEANIE BABY)

     John's POV

  Husky boy, freak, test tube baby, and so many more.

Those are just some of the names my smartass classmates called me. In my opinion, husky boy is just clever. My eyes do look like a husky's. My left eye is blue. It's the most beautiful blue you have ever seen. Even cooler, it changes the shade of blue whenever my mood changes. Then, my right eye. It's like a disaster. It's a hazel brown with a few freckles. My freckles only make me look ten times worse. Imagine an elysian artist. This talented artist could draw anything. Even hands, which is difficult as hell. This artist has all kinds of supplies, making their pieces very detailed. Now imagine this artist going out and getting wasted. While drunk out of their minds, they stumble over to their sketchbook and think "imagine this really tall dude with like, black curly hair, like, really long black hair." Then while they are getting to my right eye, they run out of blue paint. So they use brown. Then my freckles was just them stabbing the page with their pencil. The artist laughing their ass off as they practically rip the paper from ramming the pencil do hard on the sheet, drawing what they think his freckles. Then after they deal with their painful hangover they think it's the coolest him ever and hangs it up in a museum. But the people in the museum hate it. So they criticize it. They hurt it, mentally and physically. Then imagine someone just being so done with it that they tear it to shreds and burn it. Okay, I have a lot of self hatred. But thanks to supportive people on Instagram who think my messed up eyes are cute and attractive, I have some self confidence. Eh,welcome to my life,

"Jackie! Breakfast is ready!" My younger sister, Martha, shouted from the kitchen. "Coming!" I let out a long sigh. I ran my fingers through my messy hair. Today, my friends, is the first day of school. Sure, it's just October 9th, almost mid year, but we just now finally finished unpacking.

I sat down at the breakfast table where my dad, Henry, James, and Mary were already sitting. Martha carried a tray with multiple plates on it. She gave me my plate first. "Good morning, sleeping beauty." Martha teased. I rolled my eyes with a small grin. "Whatever." I watched as she continued to give out the plates with fluffy pancakes on them. It's amazing how she's only 13 and going into the eighth grade yet she already knows how to cook. Martha knew my dad couldn't cook for crap, and my mom was way too sick to even try, so she taught herself. Now, she's the cook in the house. Not only is she the cook, but also has one blue eye and one brown. Her right is blue, left is brown. We like to share the dumb names we get called. It's fun hearing how creative children can be. Though, you would never imagine the words that come out of their mouths.

"John, I packed your bag for you. You haven't even bothered to put stuff away, it was bothering me. You're welcome." James smiled. Then there's James, who is ten. He does most of the cleaning around here. It's impressive to see what that boy can do to a kitchen that looks like a tornado came through in under 15 minutes. He's got skill. "Yesh, thanks James. That was very helpful of ya." I ruffled his hair. He laughed, pushing me playfully.

"Oh! I got my paycheck yesterday. I was thinking after school today I'd get groceries, so gimme dinner ideas." Henry worked at a nearby Target. He's only 15. My dad has a job, but Henry thinks that isn't enough for five people. I'm the only one who has a car out of the kids, so I go everywhere.

"I need paper, my old one is running low." Lastly, Mary. Mary is only seven, so she really does nothing productive around the house. She draws, cares for the plants, and knits everyone scarves and beanies, but that's it. She made my grey colored beanie, which I plan to wear to school today.

"You got it, Mary."

——————

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

I got carried away in the shower. I'm a sucker for broadway, and hitting shuffle was a mistake.

Now imagine this: A 5'9" boy with black, curly hair with a grey beanie over it, then a black The 1975 T-shirt with a grey flannel over it and black jeans with high top converses, running down the street to get to the bus because he was running late due to his musical obsession. Goodness, did I have a bad problem.

As soon as I got to the bus stop, I got weird looks from the people around me. There were seven other kids, and they all looked like punks. I turned away to make sure my blue eye was covered up. Y'know, just in case.

The bus pulled up after 10 minutes of waiting. As I walked up to get onto the bus, I was pushed out of the way. I landed on my back with a grunt. I groaned quietly in pain. "Yesh, are you okay?" I looked up to see a girl dressed in yellow. She had a white shirt and a yellow skirt that went to her knees. She looked like a ray of sunshine, and I liked that. Yellow doesn't represent cheerful, but only artists and authors truly understand color. She took out her hand, offering her to help me up. Her nails were bumblebee yellow with white polka dots. Her nails were cut short. I took her hand gladly. She helped me back onto my feet. "That was James Monroe. Don't get involved with him." She spat his name like he was Voldemort. "But them there's also James Madison, who is strong, but too sick and weak to fight. There's a lot of James kids, it's confusing. Anyways, are you okay?" I chuckled at the talkative girl. I could tell she's someone who could drown on forever without even noticing others want to speak. "I'm okay. Thanks for helping me, by the way." I gave her a small smile, slightly embarrassed of my fall. "Nah, it's no problem. I'm Peggy." She stuck out her hand. "I'm John." I took her hand and shook it firmly.

She sat with two other girls on the bus. I sat in the very back where I hoped no one would see me.

I hit play back on my playlist and closed my eyes.

Today's another day.