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Whipped

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So here's a new story! I don't really have anything to say so enjoy :)

 

 

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Chapter 1:

 

I put duct tape on the lid of the cardboard box to seal it. I sighed and looked around the room. I was surrounded by plastic tubs and cardboard boxes full of my things. I stood up from my Indian-style position on the carpet and walked over to the single sky blue wall in my room. I ran my fingers over all the tiny holes from all of the pictures I hung up; all pictures of my family with a sign underneath that read, “We’ve been through a lot together & most of it was your fault.” I laughed at the memory of when I first put the sign up. I thought it went nicely with all the family pictures because each and every one of us could say that about another family member on the wall and the statement would be somewhat true. I lied down where my bed was supposed to be. I remember many restless nights tossing and turning. Or rather, restless mornings because I had the tendency to stay up until three o’clock in the morning.

 

  I walked over to the corner where the blue wall met the lime green wall. I laughed at all the mistakes I made painting it. It was a Sunday night and I didn’t have time to be perfect. The green wall hadn’t dried yet so I couldn’t put down painter’s tape. I was tired and rushing; I made A LOT of mistakes. I didn’t really care, though. It reminded me of myself, colorful and full of mistakes. I scanned the green wall I stood by. This was the wall I started with when I decided to paint my room. It took me the longest because I was just getting used to it. I hadn’t established a rhythm yet. I ran my hand over all the bumps from when the paint started to drip. I chuckled as I remembered the look on my face when I realized I was using way too much paint. I tried to smooth out the drips but I just made it worse.

 

I walked to the wall across from the blue one. This wall was lime green too. Three of the four walls in my room were lime green. I gazed out the window at the cul-de-sac that I spent roughly seven years of my life growing up in. I pictured all the good times I had on this street. The water gun fight with Mary the summer she moved away. The many games of cops and robbers with Bridgette and her brother Stanley. Stanley used to be the robber and Me and Bridgette would be the cops. We used to have “high speed” chases on our bikes but we had to ride in circles because we weren’t allowed to leave the street. I remember the epic game of kickball in the middle of a hailstorm. It hurt like hell but we had fun. I remember the many games of baseball when I was scared I would hit someone’s car. Or getting yelled at for not coming inside when it got dark.

 

I moved to the portion of the wall that was to the left of the window. I found myself standing in the space where my dresser should be. I put the dresser together with dad. Well, I started it with him until he got bored and decided I could handle it myself. And I felt accomplished when I was done. It was the first thing I’ve ever built and it came out great. I could still picture my dresser sitting there, cluttered with different ceramic figures my mother gave me. My favorite was the one with the hummingbirds on it. It doubled as a music box. Too bad one of the hummingbirds fell off. I could still see the picture frame that held the photo of mom and dad when they were still together, back when life was simple and I thought marriage lasted forever. I silently vowed that I would never get divorced. I wouldn’t put my unborn children through the pain of seeing all their friends with their perfectly happy families. I wouldn’t make them look at those families and wonder why they don’t have a family like that. I know too well how much it hurts.

 

I moved to the portion of the wall that was to the right of the window. This was where my computer should’ve been. Where I should’ve been sitting in my faux leather chair chatting with people on Facebook and blasting my favorite music. I looked up and saw a single hole from the French painting that belonged to my mother before she left it here, along with her broken marriage and her children. I shook my head to get rid of the thought. I wouldn’t let her ruin my reminiscing. A small smile crept onto my face when I remembered the playful argument I had with Dominic, my brother.

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CallMeMalfoyas Anjie Clark
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