Six dollars and eighty-five cents. Jeez. Small fries were overpriced. I walked over to the side of the restaurant, hoping they would yell my number and I could leave. 571. I yawned, silently. I was raised being told audible yawns were rude and not needed.
A tall,large woman, came out holding a small bag. 571. I quickly strutted forward grabbed my bag and turned, and darted toward the door. My head down. I was an edgy kid. I liked to say I had no friends, when in fact I had several.
Having no friends was hip on the internet, I wanted to be hip on the internet. I ran a small blog, I uploaded once a week, sometimes. I wondered why people still followed me.
I plopped my fries into the plastic grocery bag tied to the front of my bike. I had a retro banana seat bike, as I said I was an edgy blog kid. I zipped down and around the corner and a few more. I hated my street,it was all up hill.
My street was also the reason I was not overweight. I ate a lot, but I also biked a lot. I turned into the driveway, it was coated with leaves and moss, we never cared enough to take care of it. It probably frustrated people, but still, we did not care. I punched in the garage code, 6741. The garage door was loud, it creaked. I swear the whole house shook when the garage door opened and closed. I walked over to the stairs that led into the house for the garage, I bopped the garage door button as I walked up the stairs.
It was one fluent movement, I opened the door that led to the house, we left it unlocked. I closed the door with my foot, I had had already started to eat my fries out of the bag. I flipped my shoes off, unlike the exterior of the house, the inside was quite clean. I left my shoes by the door. I walked over to the small red-plaid couch. I belly flopped on to it. The house was always silent. We did not have any pets or anything.
I pulled out the remote, it was wedged in between two couch cushions, I hid it there so the tv was mine. I flipped through several channels, none had anything particularly interesting playing. I settled on a cheesy teenager show, I only pretended to hate these shows. I loved them. But it was hip on the internet to hate on them, so I did.
On the floor of the room was my backpack, my only reminder that I was supposed to be at school. I was taking a "mental health" day. I honestly did not need it, I just would rather be doing jack shit, then be at school. It was only Thursday. My parents were never home on week days, I had free range to do whatever I wanted. I would not though, I was generally a good kid.
I finished my fries. I got up to throw away the bag. I threw it away, but did not go back to the living room. I sat down at the desktop in the corner of the kitchen. The chair made high pitch noises that I would have been embarrassed by if I was in school. But I was not in school, so I did not even acknowledge the noises.
I aggressively hit the spacebar until the screen lit up. I punched keys until I was logged in. I had what seemed like a million tabs open. I used internet explorer, simply because I was not a tech nerd, heck I did not even have a phone. I just did not care. I pulled up the blog. No notifications. As usual. 3656 followers, but no one ever wanted to comment. I pulled up photoshop.
I googled some simple landscape photos. Using simple tools, I made a handful of aesthetic boards, I didn't really understand them, but they were hip on the internet. I uploaded them. Logged off the computer. Got up, the chair screamed.
I moped around the house. Half way down the hallway, I decided food was the answer to my boredom. Continuing my slow pace, I made my way back into the kitchen. Opened the cabinet, it clicked. I pulled out a box of twinkies, reached in and grabbed two. Plopped the box back on the shelf. Closed the cabinet, sat down at the tall, thin dinner table.
I ripped off the translucent packaging, popped out the twinkie. I broke it in half. Placed the first half in my mouth. Chewed a bit, swallowed. Repeat.I trashed talked a lot of things I loved. Television shows, twinkies, even my parents at times. But the important thing was that everyone thought I was a tough mystery kid. I was not, but I tried.
I finished my boredom snack, returning to the living room, I left the tv on. Rather than flopping on the couch again, I plopped to my knees, then carefully laid down on my stomach on the rug. It was an old white rug, that smelt bad when we bought it three or four years ago. Now it just smells like bleach and a couple weeks ago my cousin when sick and puked on the rug. They left after that. My parents went ham and cheese on the rug. It's fine now. I pulled my bag over.
Opening it up and pulling my folder, to check for homework. I had math. I closed the folder and slipped it back into the bag. I turned my attention back to the tv. I crossed my arms in front of me. Then rested my head on them. Everything was nice. The white noise of whatever comercial was playing, the rug, the heated living room. It was not long before I passed out.
This is our first chapter! Thanks for suffering through it! Opinions are always welcome! Thanks! - Patchy
