♧♢Short Stories and Poems [A Collection]♡♤

New Clothes, Poker Chips, And Old Money✔ [2016]

Cover made by @Baneen121

This is a satire. :3 So, something that makes fun of a serious thing.
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Cars buzzed down the streets like ants down a trail. Kids screamed as laughed, playing ball in their yards. People could be heard chatting and cheering downtown, as if it was Mardi Gras. That was months ago. The only plants visible were the ones on our balcony of our apartment. The "Big Easy" was not so easy as everyone thought it was. At least, not for me. Life is never easy, but I didn't want it to be either.

I was sitting on our only couch, merely two worn-out cushions set on a frame that was split in two. Dirt coated the fabric and cotton-filled holes dotted the cushions. Worn as it was, it fit in with the rest of the place. Paint peeled from the walls above me, revealing the original material underneath. I had to sit slanted to keep myself from rolling onto the floor. Stepmom would say to me, "Sit up straight, Cinder. You'll ruin your back with such posture." Well, Stepmom, it is hard to sit up straight when you are sitting on a couch that is slanted! You'd think it would be fixed by now, but, she doesn't understand that. She didn't even think half of the time unless it has something to do about clothes. She understood what you are saying, as long as you mentioned clothes. My eyes still roll at the mere thought of that woman and clothing.

While I sat there, reading Adventures of Huck Finn by Mark Twain, Father came through the door, all dressed up in his non-commissioned officer's Army uniform, firm and pressed. He took off his cover and shrugged the MCU blouse off of his shoulders and laid it down on an old, beat up, dirty rocking chair. One clean thing on something filthy. It's just going to get dirty there. For a man who was high up in rank and got paid, like, five-thousand dollars a month, he had no money to spend on things that we needed. He gave half of his profit to Stepmom and kept the other half for himself. More clothes for Stepmom, more poker for Father, nothing for me, the child. Nothing to eat, nothing to wear, no new toys or books, and nothing to do.

Father looked at me, smiling softly. "Cinder, what are you doing out here? Don't you have homework?"

"No, sir," I replied, snapping out of my thoughts.

He looked around, pausing for a short moment. "This place could use a little dusting if you are not busy. Help your stepmother out."

"Father, this house needs a street sweeper to clean it, not just a tiny dust rag. Last I checked, I cannot rent a street sweeper." I placed my book face-down in my lap.

He shook his head, not liking my answer as far as I could tell. "Just dust, Cinder."

"It's useless, Father." I can't clean everything in the house, including the...people who run it. I continued what I was doing, picking my book back up and reading it. He sat beside me, turning on our old antenna T.V. The T.V. crackled and smoked and fizzled like the screen from The Poltergeist where the little girl was staring at the snow screen and talking in a creepy way. I hated that movie, which made me hate this T.V. It always reminded me of it.

Father got up, going to move the antenna.

"Can you get me a drink? Maybe some wine or a beer?"

"I don't think we have any of those left. We were almost out and it's a lot of m-"

"Go look in the fridge," he said, cutting me off.

I obeyed. I walked to the fridge to retrieve his imaginative wine or beer or any alcohol he thought he had. Sure enough, when I opened the door, his wine was the first thing in sight, taking up half of the fridge where our food was supposed to be. It sparkled in the light, next to a half-eaten loaf of bread. I breathed in big, swallowing a lump that grew in my throat. My vision went somewhat red. I grabbed his expensive wine with dirty, nail-bitten hands. I spun on my heel and walked back to him.