City of Angels

1

The threats started on my brothers 16th birthday. I had just turned twelve about a month ago, and I was super excited to be going to a big party.

All day, Momma and I were setting up decorations and buying the food supplies, while Lucas sat around on his butt inviting over 600 people. By the time we brought in the bags from the store, I was fuming. He hadn't helped out one bit. I bet if Momma threatened to cancel the party he'd straighten up.

I found Lucas sitting on the couch, and I decided it was time to give him a piece of my mind,

"Lucas! Are you going to help me and Momma, or are you just gonna keep sitting there like a lazy bum?"

All Lucas did was look at me, roll his eyes, and went up to his room. I groaned in frustration and stormed back into the kitchen with Momma. I guess I should stop the story for a minute to tell you that Momma was what I called our grandmother. She took the role as our mother when our real mom left after she gave birth to me. Ever since then, Lucas always does stuff to get under my skin, while other times, he completely ignores me.

Momma and I finished unpacking all the food, and we decided to take a quick break. I got a can of Mountain Dew along with a bag of Doritos, and walked to my room. I spent most of my time in here since you know, it's my room, and because I can get away from all the drama and just relax. The vibrant colors that each of the walls are painted also brought me into a sense of my own world.

I sat on my bed and picked up the remote, turning on the TV. Flipping through the channels, I could hear Lucas in his room on the phone with whoever, talking about the party. God, can he shut up?

The Doritos and Mountain Dew didn't last long, and I was back hungry again. Going against the protests in my stomach to get something else to eat, I picked up my paintbrush, and began to finish coloring the drawing I did of an angel on the wall where my window was. Momma let me paint on the walls in my room because of how much I loved to draw. The endless sketchbooks and blank sheets of paper she brought me didn't last long at all, so she bought me a paint kit to decrate my room with.

Each picture on my wall has a different meaning to it. Some good, some bad. My favorite one is the drawing I did of our old dog King. He was a Pikaneese mixed with a Poodle that we rescued from the streets. It felt good knowing that he didn't have to be sent to the dog pound. God knows what they do to the dogs in there.

We found King wandering in the rain one evening by the Italian restaurant. He looked so thin and his fur was scraggly with a whole bunch of leaves and twigs stuck in it. I had looked at Momma and asked if we could take him home. At first she said no, but after she saw the tears flowing down my face, she agreed, but said that he was going to be my responsibility.

Taking care of King gave me a sense of how responsibility was going to look like in the future. It wasn't easy training him on my own, but I managed. I was a pretty good trainer if I say so myself.

The different strokes the brush made took me out of reality and brought me into a sense of freedom. The whites and blues all joined together in harmony. I swirled my brush around the color pallet in my hand, and made a light brown color. I colored in the angels long, flowing hair, when suddenly, someone threw green paint over her face.

I whipped around and saw Lucas with a bottle of green paint in his hand. He had an annoyed look on his face, but smirked once he saw me glare at him.

"Grandma's been calling you downstairs for 5 minutes. You deaf or something?"

I ignored his snarky comment and snatched the paint bottle away from him, and set it down before heading towards the door. He blocked my way before I could fully step out.