The Rebel

II

The familiar surroundings are desolate; far more barren than normal within this household. All of the brightness seems to be dimming under the extravagant lights designed to illuminate the awful interior room; they're somehow managing to cancel out the brushed on barf. The custard washed walls are fading to a grim grey, dirtying what could be a lovely space. I feel like fuchsia among a greyscale.

Considering that the owners of this house are the most loved members in the high class neighbourhood, it really isn't expected that their stylistic choices match that of a funeral home that's crashed into a desert at night. Admittedly, their furniture selection is particularly cute, it's just the swatches that make my eyes bleed. Seriously, who willingly picks a tawny couch to relax in whilst staring at blonde walls while the remaining furniture is a cotton shade?

All of the laughter stemming from the contents of the glass coffee table isn't at all cheery, even with the minimal vibrancy of the game. The atmosphere is gruelling despite none of us actually being dejected. The weight hanging above us is the cause, ready to drop at any moment and crush us under its tremendous heft.

If it wasn't for the music blaring into my ear from the hidden mini speaker, the muted air would have killed me an hour ago - songs are truly my saviour. 'Family Fun Time' is the worst way to spend four hours on a Sunday. I'd rather be in a coffin than lose to my sister for the millionth time while receiving the occasional miffed glower from our Mother. She always acts as though I killed the cat. I've resorted to draping a blanket around me just to ease her scowl over my lazy day outfit.

"At least try to look enthused." She grumbles from behind her hand, attempting to conceal the sourness in her voice. She has no clue how to whisper, everyone here can hear her.

"I'd rather be completing my coursework. You're always telling me to focus on my academics." My levels of sass earn narrowed eyes above flat lips.

"You've been working too much, we've barely seen you. It won't kill you to spend some time with your family instead of scribbling in your bedroom." Her tone suggests her distaste for my defiance as though one day it will magically cease.

"She's right. You shouldn't be hunching over your desk that frequently. Your sister never worked on one thing for more than an hour or she'd get a headache." Of course he'd bring her into this.

"She didn't do Art. It's a lot more than answering questions and reading notes. The majority of my degree relies on practical work, meaning I draw a lot and write masses of connotations. Once I'm inspired, I'm not going to waste the mood with some stupid board game." My mood has been dropping all morning, and this conversation isn't going to help it improve.

Snatching the wooden dice out of my father's hand, I toss them onto the card mat. The numbers add up to my score, so I aggressively bounce my counter along the provided space to land on my own property. My mother grumbles under her breath at my frustration; father leans away to show his abandonment of the conversation that we've had hundreds of times before.

Don't get me wrong, I adore my small family but the two adults can be severely judgmental when it comes to my life. I'm treated extraordinarily differently from my older sister, Rabia. She's allowed out at all hours, she's able to do whatever she wants without question as long as she gets enough sleep before going to work. She has no rules around the house, I have dozens. She's the golden child that got the highest graded degree in Neuroscience.

Whereas I'm the disappointment that has no interest in core academics. Instead, I aspire for a career that is 'going to lead to my downfall', it seems I'm 'going to be homeless by thirty with no future'. They basically have zero faith in my skills, too busy disapproving of my eccentric lifestyle to care about what makes me happy or even bother to see if I'm any good.