It All Started With Chocolate

Chapter 2

If I told you I was not on the verge of a mental breakdown, and eating out all my feelings through chocolate ice cream, that would be a lie. Minus the ice cream part, though, but ice cream did sound good at the moment.

Currently, I was still slumped over, sitting on the ground by the front door. My knees pulled up to my chest, I was breathing rapidly. I was in shock, you could say. Looking up, I stared at the creepy owl clock on the wall, watching as the time passed by.

In other words, as the time passed by within each tick, we were closer to my death.

Tonight.

Getting up, I rubbed my tired eyes angrily. Our house had been quiet for awhile. Either meaning my dad had gone to work at his office, or he had won the lottery and forgot to take me with him to the Bahamas.

I headed to the garage, peeking my head through the door to see if his car was parked in it. Yup. He was at work, and so was his vegetable-oil powered car. One thing my dad had actually found useful from my mom before leaving her.

My dad worked for a newspaper company, it was not a very well known one, especially here in New Port. I mean, what would you think of when someone says they work for 'Onion Newspapers.'

Exactly.

I tugged my shorts up, feeling the piece of paper I had put in there earlier. Taking out the paper, I crumbled it into a ball, and threw it on the ground.

"Take that paper," I narrowed my eyes at it, challenging the unresponsive object. Normally, even acknowledging things that had IQ's in the double digits put them at a low disadvantage, but now I was challenging crafts?

That was completely degrading.

My stomach started to grumble, when was the last time I had eaten? Patting my tummy, I went to the kitchen in search of my objective; food.

One pop-tart, and a couple too much pieces of chocolate later, I was laying on my bed, with my phone clutched by my side.

So this is how obesity happens. A terrible feeling arose in my stomach, eating all that food definently was not the best idea. I groaned, scanning my desk to see if I had any Pepto Bismol.

Rolling over on my side, and accidentally rolling over my phone on the way, which caused a sharp pain on my hip, and a grunt from my behalf. I found myself staring at Will's house. More specifically, his window.

Plain, would be an understatement to describe it. While most of the houses were painted eccentric bright colors, his was painted a dull white. No flowers, no garden gnomes, nothing. His house practically screamed boring. No- not even boring could begin to describe it, it was more along the lines of dead. This was probably why that house had won each damn spooky award every Halloween.

Confused? Here's the backstory, every single fucking Halloween, my town brings it upon their plastic self to hold a contest which looks for the house that resembles a house that would be used in the living dead, or atleast something even Satan would not want to recide in.

Mix completely unoriginal contest, with a house that can put you to sleep and you have created a winner.

A shuffle from Will's window made me sit up quickly. I could see his shadow from his closed curtains, his back was facing me. Now, I felt like the stalker. This did not suppress the fact that Will was flexing, like full on showing off his 'guns' to himself.

Scratch that his, 'twig arms.'

Laughter echoed through my room as I continued to watch the show unravel from in front of me. One second, he would be still, and the next, his arms were raised to his ears. Something you would see in a Abercrombie advertisement, or an episode of Johhny Bravo.