Fight On

I hear the plate crash against the wall and break. Again. My parents are still fighting over which kind of pudding I like best, three days later. Are they rational about it and simply ask me which kind of pudding I like? No, of course not. Am I going to just straight out tell them? No, of course not because then I would be picking sides; giving them another reason to fight. I'm sitting on the roof and I think to myself, what am I doing here? Let me put it this way: have you ever been so unhappy with your life, yet you do absolutely nothing about it? That's me, and I'm so sick of it. Tonight, I'm out of here.

Author's Note: Chapters will be posted Friday evenings, unless otherwise posted on my profile.