From Hate Flourishes Love

Enter Kai Summers

🅚🅐🅘

I wake from bed, reaching for my alarm and hitting it before six-thirty strikes. And, like every other morning, I'm five minutes earlier than the clock. I slowly open my eyes so they'll adjust to the bright lights in my room. OH, I forgot that there are no bright lights to fall on my face in the early mornings since the sun is absent from my side of the house. Seeing that the sun doesn't shine on my side of the house. Not to mention my dad has removed the bulbs in the hallway,

"I'm saving energy. We shouldn't have so many lights on," I mock the penny-pincher's voice.

I quickly get into the bathroom. After lathering myself with watered-down body wash, I rinse off and gain the world record for the shortest shower yet.

Don't use too much electricity.

Don't run the hot water for too long.

I angrily dry my back, upset at my father for setting these rules when he's using money for bills to fund his gambling addiction. He's the reason, I have to live in the school library, soaking up every bit of electricity the university has to offer. It's ever apparent that I made the wrong choice not to go out of state for college.

Looking in my closet, I laugh at the few pairs of T-shirts, and jeans. I go for the simplest outfit. Not that there are any other choices. Some say that one's clothes reflect your personality. So, unfortunately, my reflection is calling me plain, and boring.

White tee, dark wash jeans, and shoes that are falling off my feet later, I head for the stairs. The familiar creak of the steps greets me as I move toward the door, each step heavier than the last.

Downstairs, I find my parents having breakfast. I slide into my seat as quietly as I can, careful not to disturb my father who's absorbed in his copy of the New York White Pages.

I sit in silence for a while, until my mom breaks my avoidance of conversation with a question,

"Honey, how's school going?" She plates breakfast in front of me. Oatmeal— slightly watery, but still delicious.

I watch my mom smile. And for a moment, I can't help but admire how beautiful she looks for her age. My dad hit the jackpot, though he's no slouch himself. He's handsome, and after twenty-five years, it's easy to see why they're still in love. Too bad, they've to remind me every night.

Small house; thin walls ...

My father's deep, bronze-like skin was mine, while my mother's full lips and dark eyes were the most obvious traits I'd inherited from her.

"School is okay," I finish the steaming oatmeal in one go.

"Hmm, that's good," Dad says to the newspaper.

"Tch," I nod.

He can't even hide the glint in his eyes from finding a new gambling spot that hasn't barred him from entering. I wasn't a fan of his gambling habits, but he was my father after all. He isn't a perfect one, but he's good enough. At times, even now in college, he's the one I turn to for help with math assignments.

"Goodbye." I bid my parents, and go out the door with my JanSport over my shoulder.

I glance back at my house, before rushing down the path that cuts into  Riverside Park.