Never Ever

Fuck my life

  I'm very sorry if this sucks. I've never written my own story before so please take it easy on me and offer me some suggestions in the comments :P     
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                    "Laikyn!"
                    "Laikyn!"
  I groaned at the sound of my mother calling me and rolled over to glance at the clock. 8 AM on a Sunday. Fuck my life.

        "Laikyn! We're leaving in 15
          minutes! Get up!"

I rubbed my eyes and rolled out of bed. After 19 years of this, I should be used to it. My father had been preaching for as long as I could remember and my parents loved to get to church early. They said that it makes us look like good Christians. I for one, was not at all religious despite my constant involvement with the church's youth group. I just didn't see the point in religion. In my opinion, it only makes people judgemental pricks. I strolled over to the closet and grabbed my parental- approved church dress and pulled it on. I looked in the mirror and.. Damn when did I turn into pizza face? I've always had occasional break outs on my face and my parents not allowing me to wear make up only made things worse and more embarrassing for me.

              "Nice zits." My little brother Daniel said as he passed my room, focused on his stupid nintendo DS.

Daniel was 13 and in the whole "be an ass to everyone because I'm a teenager now" phase. I rolled my eyes and grabbed my low top converse tennis shoes, slipped them on, and made my way to the car, where my parents were impatiently waiting. Hopefully they'll be so busy trying to make themselves look good that they won't notice my ditching of the "mother approved" church shoes. High heels and clumsiness are not exactly what I would call a good combination.

"Why do you always insist on making us late?" My father asked in an exasperated tone while he began to back out of our drive.

"Dad, I don't think they'll mind us only being an hour early instead of two." He sighed and turned the radio on to his religious sermon station.

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I walked inside, mentally preparing myself for the shit ton of people that I had to smile and greet. See, as the preachers daughter, you are pretty much automatically the younger children's role model. You have to be polite, always dress modestly, always volunteer anywhere you can, and always do well in school. It sucks but that's my life in a nutshell.

"Oh how beautiful you look!" Exclaimed Mrs. Watson, a rather plump middle-aged lady who always smelled of cat urine and tuna fish.

I put on my best fake smile, trying not to breathe, and replied  "Thank you, Mrs. Watson." and proceeded quickly to find a seat in the chapel. One could only converse with her for so long. Rumors say that she has around forty cats and quite frankly with the way she smells, I wouldn't doubt it. I spot my best friend Josh and his in the fifth row pew and plopped down next to him, gasping for a breath of sweet, urine - free oxygen.

"Mrs. Watson forget the perfume today?" He asked with his trademark grin.

I glared at him, still trying to get my breathing back to normal.

He laughed and patted my head, "So have you decided what your senior project will be?" I had thought about it but I still couldn't decide. I figured I'd probably do something with photography but I wasn't entirely sure yet. Photography has been an obsession of mine since around the third grade when I was first gifted a small and cheap digital camera for my birthday. I love to take pictures and tell the story of how I got it and what was on my mind as I captured it. I just found the whole idea of photos to be fucking beatiful.