A/N: First, thank you for choosing to read "Black Eyed." It means the literal world to me.
Hello! This is my first story for WattPad, so bear with me. I will try my hardest for consecutive updates on weekends or any off days that I have, but updating may be infrequent. Comments will be highly appreciated, as I'm new to this whole thing. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy.
Update: This story starts getting good near chapter six, if you want to stick it out until then. I am honestly very proud of this story and have very good feelings for it, and these chapters are not long at all. So if you are bored and want to support a novice author, please continue to read and comment/vote.Thank you, and as always, thank you for reading.
Chewing my burnt toast, I stare at the yellowed linoleum floor in distaste. A thin layer coats its surface, enough to make it uncomfortable to walk on with bare feet. Yellow is such an ugly color, and especially so when its appearance is a result of mold and water leakages. And this entire kitchen is yellow, with drop-ceiling tiles patched with brown bruises and cabinet doors upholstered with a peeling yellow floral print. The abundance of yellow makes the room uncomfortably tacky and is not complemented by any means by the green counters a shade off of neon and the faded blue refrigerator.
Sweat beads at my temple as the South Carolinian morning breeze innocently steals my body's cool temperatures from the open windows and yellow painted screen door. Faint mumbled curses are escaping from Caroline's lips as she struggles to clean the dishes at the sink with an old brush, all of which have left over food attached that have a very strong resemblance to molded cement.
"These God-damned dishes will be the death of me, I swe'ah on His name," she concludes, throwing the dishes into the sink rather violently, sloshing water onto herself and the surrounding counters.
"Maybe if you cleaned after you cooked you might not have this problem," I want to respond, but don't.
She turns around and drops all three-hundred-somethin' of her pounds into a chair next to me that creaks dangerously under her blue billowy dress. She rubs her reddened and wrinkled hands with passion and frees her yellowing-blond hair from its horrible bun. It falls onto her shoulders mechanically.
"Get me a cig, Will," Caroline says, without affording eye contact, nor the time and energy it would take to say my full name. Really, it's only two syllables.
I drop the toast on the 70's china and turn out of my seat to go to the living room, which is less organized than the kitchen, if possible. It's painted a dark forest green that was supposed to add a 'woodsy feel to the house' (so Caroline said) but instead made it feel claustrophobic. The wall the old kitchen table is rested upon has a prehistoric television set and frame on its opposing side. Two fantastically large La-Z-Boy recliners that are covered in more cigarette ash than fabric face the television, and book shelves line the three surrounding walls, save room for the entrance frames and a gigantic painting of a buck with partnering buck head. A window with a small built-in seat is located on the opposite wall of the two bucks, but the curtains are so often drawn that I've forgotten what they it looks like.
My feet pad across a thick though stiff bright orange carpet to the small TV dinner tray table squashed in between the two gigantic recliners. I try to find the small white box without disturbing the mountain of trash littered there. After many failed attempts of doing so, I swipe the entirety off the table with resolution and grab the cigarette box. Upon my return, I slap the box in Caroline's outstreched palm by her ear and am almost scratched by her red painted talons.
YOU ARE READING
Black Eyed (Original)
Paranormal[1st draft of the Black Eyed series. Permanently retired] Willow's life has never been the personification of 'normal,' and recent events just seem to keep proving that. She's never had loving parents or a friend to talk to, but when a new family...
