Narcissus

Chapter Seven

above pic is finn

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"Morning." I muttered wearily, scratching my head as I wandered into the kitchen.

"Morning, Finn." my dad responded, standing up from the table to give me a hug. It was six o'clock in the morning, and the kitchen was dimly lit as I wondered around the small room, fixing myself some breakfast. Sunlight filtered lazily through the window as I sat opposite my dad, who was sipping from a mug of tea and reading his newspaper. Taking a bite of my jam on toast, I relished the calming atmosphere and peaceful silence that had descended upon us like a hazy glow. I had a book with me, 'Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe', and I sat reading it for about an hour. At exactly seven, however, the peace was disrupted.

"Get up! Get up!" the calls echoed around the house, a high pitched voice screaming as it did every morning.

"I'm off to work," my Dad smiled at me.

"Get up!" the voice screeched again.

"See you tomorrow."

"See you, Dad." he leant forward and kissed me on the cheek, his stubble scratching against my face. I watched his figure recede, a tall, lanky, ginger-haired man dressed in a crumpled beige suit. He ducked to go through the doorway, briefcase in hand, and left our house. It was only a short walk to the train station, where he would catch the train to London. Thinking about it, I wasn't actually sure what he did. It was something to do with accounting. His job wasn't particularly low-paying, but he didn't make near enough to comfortably support his whole family, something that he couldn't really help. He worked hard.

He would arrive home about Midnight, and worked every day of the week except Wednesdays, which he spent in bed, so that one hour in the morning was the only time I spent with him. My Dad had suffered with depression for a year now, but he never went to get help for it; he instead just went through the same, mundane routine every day with no change.

"Get up!" my mothers voice began to draw closer. A second later, she appeared in the doorway. "Did you remember to wash your dishes?" she exclaimed. I nodded, and she huffed and strode past, "It doesn't look very clean, Finn."

"Sorry." I mumbled.

"Did you make breakfast for your brothers?"

"Mhm." I responded, shuffling out of the kitchen before she could say anything else. I reached the bottom of the stairs as a slow rumble shook the mirror on the wall, as it did every day when the boys were awake and hungry. Sighing, I stepped to the side. The sound of a hundred hooves thudding against the floor filled my ears as all six of my younger brothers sprinted downstairs, trying to be the first one down so they could get their food first. They ignored me as they piled into the kitchen, and I began my ascent up as soon as the stairway was clear. Our house was tall, and narrow, my bedroom on the third and final floor, along with a single bathroom. It wasn't much use, as the toilet and shower didn't even work.

Entering my room, I sat down on my mattress and sighed. It wasn't very personalised. It was small, and cramped, and stacked with random boxes because the eldest boy in my family, Adam, who was a year younger than me, broke the door to the attic three years ago when he was 13, and the boxes that should have stayed up there, moved down here. It was a small price to pay for my own room, however. There were only three other bedrooms in the house; one for my parents, one for the three oldest brothers and one for the three youngest brothers.

It didn't take me long to get ready for school. I wasn't feeling great, so I just chucked on a hoodie and some leggings with my only pair of nice shoes, my checkered vans. They had been a Christmas present from my parents two years ago, after they won £50 in the lottery and Dad was doing well at work. Better than he was now.